ia        Ui 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 


The  Works  of  Rudyard   Kipling 

From  Sea  to  Sea;  Letters  of 
Travel 


Volume   Two 


New  York 

Doubleday   6   McClure    Company 

1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 
BY  EUDYAED  KIPLING. 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  k  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 
XXV 

PAOB 

Tells  how  I  dropped  into  Politics  and  the  Tenderer  Senti- 
ments. Contains  a  Moral  Treatise  on  American  Maidens 
and  an  Ethnological  One  on  the  Negro.  Ends  with  a 
Banquet  and  a  Type-writer 3 

XXVI 

Takes  me  through  Bret  Harte's  Country  and  to  Portland  with 
"Old  Man  California."  Explains  how  Two  Vagabonds 
became  Homesick  through  looking  at  Other  People's 
Houses 18 

XXVII 

Shows  how  I  caught  Salmon  in  the  Clackamas  33 

XXVIII 

Takes  me  from  Vancouver  to  the  Yellowstone  National  Park      50 

XXIX 

Shows  how  Yankee  Jim  introduced  me  to  Diana  of  the  Cross- 
ways  on  the  Banks  of  the  Yellowstone  and  how  a  German 
Jew  said  I  was  no  True  Citizen.     Ends  with  the  Celebra- 
tion of  the  4th  of  July  and  a  Few  Lessons  therefrom        .       62 
v 


21306GB 


vi  CONTENTS 


xxx 

PAGE 

Shows  how  I  entered  Mazanderan  of  the  Persians  and  saw 
Devils  of  Every  Colour,  and  Some  Troopers.  Hell  and 
the  Old  Lady  from  Chicago.  The  Captain  and  the 
Lieutenant 73 

XXXI 

Ends  with  the  Cafion  of  the  Yellowstone.  The  Maiden  from 
New  Hampshire  —  Larry  —  "  Wrap-up-his-Tail  "  —  Tom 
—  The  Old  Lady  from  Chicago  —  and  a  Few  Natural 
Phenomena  —  including  One  Briton  ....  88 

XXXII 

Of  the  American  Army  and  the  City  of  the  Saints.  The 
Temple,  the  Book  of  Mormon,  and  the  Girl  from  Dorset. 
An  Oriental  Consideration  of  Polygamy  ....  106 

XXXIII 

How  I  met  Certain  People  of  Importance  between  Salt  Lake 

and  Omaha '  .        .        .     120 

XXXIV 

Across  the  Great  Divide ;  and  how  the  Man  Gring  showed  me 

the  Garments  of  the  Ellewomen 130 

XXXV 

How  I  struck  Chicago,  and  how  Chicago  struck  me.  Of 
Religion,  Politics,  and  Pig-sticking,  and  the  Incarnation 
of  the  City  among  Shambles 139 

XXXVI 

How  I  found  Peace  at  Musquash  on  the  Monongahela    .        .154 

XXXVII 

An  Interview  with  Mark  Twain  167 


CONTENTS  vii 

THE   CITY  OF   DREADFUL   NIGHT 

I 

PAGE 

A  Real  Live  City 185 

II 

The  Reflections  of  a  Savage 191 

III 

The  Council  of  the  Gods 199 

IV 
On  the  Banks  of  the  Hugli 208 

V 

With  the  Calcutta  Police 217 

VI 

The  City  of  Dreadful  Night 223 

VII 
Deeper  and  Deeper  Still 233 

VIII 
Concerning  Lucia 240 


viii  CONTENTS 

AMONG   THE  RAILWAY   FOLK 

I 

PAGE 

A  Railway  Settlement 249 

II 
The  Shops 257 

III 

Vulcan's  Forge 200 

THE   GIRIDIH   COAL-FIELDS 

I 

On  the  Surface 275 

II 
In  the  Depths 284 

III 

The  Perils  of  the  Pits      .  291 


IN  AN  OPIUM  FACTORY— 301 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION 

The  Cow-house  Jirga 311 

A  Bazaar  Dhulip 316 

The  Hands  of  Justice       .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .321 

The  Serai  Cabal      .       .  324 


CONTENTS  ix 

PAGE 

The  Story  of  a  King 328 

The  Great  Census 332 

The  Killing  of  Hatim  Tai 33(3 

A  Self-made  Man 341 

The  Vengeance  of  Lai  Beg 345 

Hunting  a  Miracle  .........  348 

The  Explanation  of  Mir  Baksh 353 

A  Letter  from  Golam  Singh     .......  357 

The  Writing  of  Yakub  Khan 302 

A  King's  Ashes 369 

The  Bride's  Progress 372 

"  A  District  at  Play  " 380 

What  it  comes  to 386 

The  Opinions  of  Gunner  Barnabas 395 


FROM   SEA   TO    SEA 

CONTINUED 


No.   XXV 

TELLS  HOW  I  DROPPED  INTO  POLITICS  AND  THE  TEN- 
DERER SENTIMENTS.  CONTAINS  A  MORAL  TREATISE 
ON  AMERICAN  MAIDENS  AND  AN  ETHNOLOGICAL  ONE 
ON  THE  NEGRO.  ENDS  WITH  A  BANQUET  AND  A 
TYPE-WRITER. 

I  HAVE  been  watching  machinery  in  repose  after  read- 
ing about  machinery  in  action.  An  excellent  gentleman 
who  bears  a  name  honoured  in  the  magazines  writes, 
much  as  Disraeli  orated,  of  "  the  sublime  instincts  of  an 
ancient  people,"  the  certainty  with  which  they  can  be 
trusted  to  manage  their  own  affairs  in  their  own  way, 
and  the  speed  with  which  they  are  making  for  all  sorts 
of  desirable  goals.  This  he  called  a  statement  or  pur- 
view of  American  politics.  I  went  almost  directly  after- 
wards to  a  saloon  where  gentlemen  interested  in  ward 
politics  nightly  congregate.  They  were  not  pretty  per- 
sons. Some  of  them  were  bloated,  and  they  all  swore 
cheerfully  till  the  heavy  gold  watch-chains  on  their  fat 
stomachs  rose  and  fell  again ;  but  they  talked  over  their 
liquor  as  men  who  had  power  and  unquestioned  access 
to  places  of  trust  and  profit.  The  magazine-writer  dis- 
cussed theories  of  government;  these  men  the  practice. 
They  had  been  there.  They  knew  all  about  it.  They 
banged  their  fists  on  the  table  and  spoke  of  political 
"pulls,"  the  vending  of  votes,  and  so  forth.  Theirs  was 

3 


4  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

not  the  talk  of  village  babblers  reconstructing  the  affairs 
of  the  nation,  but  of  strong,  coarse,  lustful  men  fighting 
for  spoil  and  thoroughly  understanding  the  best  methods 
of  reaching  it.  I  listened  long  and  intently  to  speech  I 
could  not  understand,  or  only  in  spots.  It  was  the  speech 
of  business,  however.  I  had  sense  enough  to  know  that, 
and  to  do  my  laughing  outside  the  door.  Then  I  began 
to  understand  why  my  pleasant  and  well-educated  hosts 
in  San  Francisco  spoke  with  a  bitter  scorn  of  such  duties 
of  citizenship  as  voting  and  taking  an  interest  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  offices.  Scores  of  men  have  told  me  with  no 
false  pride  that  they  would  as  soon  concern  themselves 
with  the  public  affairs  of  the  city  or  State  as  rake 
muck.  Read  about  politics  as  the  cultured  writer  of 
the  magazines  regards  'em,  and  then,  and  not  till  then, 
pay  your  respects  to  the  gentlemen  who  run  the  grimy 
reality. 

I'm  sick  of  interviewing  night-editors,  who,  in  response 
to  my  demand  for  the  record  of  a  prominent  citizen,  an- 
swer: "Well,  you  see,  he  began  by  keeping  a  saloon,"  etc. 
I  prefer  to  believe  that  my  informants  are  treating  me  as 
in  the  old  sinful  days  in  India  I  was  used  to  treat  our  wan- 
dering Globe-trotters.  They  declare  that  they  speak  the 
truth,  and  the  news  of  dog-politics  lately  vouchsafed  to 
me  in  groggeries  incline  me  to  believe — but  I  won't.  The 
people  are  much  too  nice  to  slangander  as  recklessly  as 
I  have  been  doing.  Besides,  I  am  hopelessly  in  love 
with  about  eight  American  maidens  —  all  perfectly  de- 
lightful till  the  next  one  comes  into  the  room.  0-Toyo 
was  a  darling,  but  she  lacked  several  things;  conversa- 
tion, for  one.  You  cannot  live  on  giggles.  She  shall 
remain  unmoved  at  Nagasaki  while  I  roast  a  battered 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  5 

heart  before  the  shrine  of  a  big  Kentucky  blonde  who 
had  for  a  nurse,  when  she  was  little,  a  negro  "  mammy." 
By  consequence  she  has  welded  on  to  Californian  beauty, 
Paris  dresses,  Eastern  culture,  Europe  trips,  and  wild 
Western  originality,  the  queer  dreamy  superstitions  of  the 
negro  quarters,  and  the  result  is  soul-shattering.  And 
she  is  but  one  of  many  stars.  Item,  a  maiden  who  believes 
in  education  and  possesses  it,  with  a  few  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  to  boot,  and  a  taste  for  slumming.  Item,  the 
leader  of  a  sort  of  informal  salon  where  girls  congregate, 
read  papers,  and  daringly  discuss  metaphysical  prob- 
lems and  candy  —  a  sloe-eyed,  black-browed,  imperious 
maiden.  Item,  a  very  small  maiden,  absolutely  without 
reverence,  who  can  in  one  swift  sentence  trample  upon 
and  leave  gasping  half  a  dozen  young  men.  Item,  a 
millionnairess,  burdened  with  her  money,  lonely,  caustic, 
with  a  tongue  keen  as  a  sword,  yearning  for  a  sphere,  but 
chained  up  to  the  rock  of  her  vast  possessions.  Item,  a 
typewriter-maiden  earning  her  own  bread  in  this  big 
city,  because  she  doesn't  think  a  girl  ought  to  be  a  bur- 
den on  her  parents.  She  quotes  Theophile  Gautier,  and 
moves  through  the  Avorld  manfully,  much  respected,  for 
all  her  twenty  inexperienced  summers.  Item,  a  woman 
from  Cloudland  who  has  no  history  in  the  past,  but 
is  discreetly  of  the  present,  and  strives  for  the  con- 
fidences of  male  humanity  on  the  grounds  of  "sym- 
pathy." (This  is  not  altogether  a  new  type.)  Item,  a 
girl  in  a  "  dive  "  blessed  with  a  Greek  head  and  eyes 
that  seem  to  speak  all  that  is  best  and  sweetest  in  the 
world.  But  woe  is  me !  —  she  has  no  ideas  in  this  world 
or  the  next,  beyond  the  consumption  of  beer  (a  com- 
mission on  each  bottle),  and  protests  that  she  sings  the 


6  FROM   SEA  TO  SEA 

songs  allotted  to  her  nightly  with  no  more  than  the 
vaguest  notion  of  their  meaning. 

Sweet  and  comely  are  the  maidens  of  Devonshire ;  deli- 
cate and  of  gracious  seeming  those  who  live  in  the  pleas- 
ant places  of  London;  fascinating  for  all  their  demureness 
the  damsels  of  France  clinging  closely  to  their  mothers, 
and  with  large  eyes  wondering  at  the  wicked  world ;  ex- 
cellent in  her  own  place  and  to  those  who  understand  her 
is  the  Anglo-Indian  "spin"  in  her  second  season;  but  the 
girls  of  America  are  above  and  beyond  them  all.  They 
are  clever;  they  can  talk.  Yea,  it  is  said  that  they 
think.  Certainly  they  have  an  appearance  of  so  doing. 
They  are  original,  and  look  you  between  the  brows 
with  unabashed  eyes  as  a  sister  might  look  at  her 
brother.  They  are  instructed  in  the  folly  and  van- 
ity of  the  male  mind,  for  they  have  associated  with 
"  the  boys  "  from  babyhood,  and  can  discerningly  minis- 
ter to  both  vices,  or  pleasantly  snub  the  possessor.  They 
possess,  moreover,  a  life  among  themselves,  independ- 
ent of  masculine  associations.  They  have  societies  and 
clubs  and  unlimited  tea-fights  where  all  the  guests  are 
girls.  They  are  self-possessed  without  parting  with  any 
tenderness  that  is  their  sex-right ;  they  understand ;  they 
can  take  care  of  themselves;  they  are  superbly  inde- 
pendent. When  you  ask  them  what  makes  them  so 
charming,  they  say:  "It  is  because  we  are  better  edu- 
cated than  your  girls  and  —  and  we  are  more  sensible  in 
regard  to  men.  We  have  good  times  all  round,  but  we 
aren't  taught  to  regard  every  man  as  a  possible  husband. 
Nor  is  he  expected  to  marry  the  first  girl  he  calls  on 
regularly."  Yes,  they  have  good  times,  their  freedom 
is  large,  and  they  do  not  abuse  it.  They  can  go  driving 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  7 

with  young  men,  and  receive  visits  from  young  men  to 
an  extent  that  would  make  an  English  mother  wink  with 
horror;  and  neither  driver  nor  drivee  have  a  thought 
beyond  the  enjoyment  of  a  good  time.  As  certain  also 
of  their  own  poets  have  said :  — 

"  Man  is  fire  and  woman  is  tow, 
And  the  Devil  he  comes  and  begins  to  blow." 

In  America  the  tow  is  soaked  in  a  solution  that  makes 
it  fire-proof,  in  absolute  liberty  and  large  knowledge ; 
consequently  accidents  do  not  exceed  the  regular  percent- 
age arranged  by  the  Devil  for  each  class  and  climate 
under  the  skies.  But  the  freedom  of  the  young  girl  has 
its  drawbacks.  She  is  —  I  say  it  with  all  reluctance  — 
irreverent,  from  her  forty-dollar  bonnet  to  the  buckles  in 
her  eighteen-dollar  shoes.  She  talks  flippantly  to  her 
parents  and  men  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  She 
has  a  prescriptive  right  to  the  society  of  the  Man  who 
Arrives.  The  parents  admit  it.  This  is  sometimes 
embarrassing,  especially  when  you  call  on  a  man  and  his 
wife  for  the  sake  of  information ;  the  one  being  a  mer- 
chant of  varied  knowledge,  the  other  a  woman  of  the 
world.  In  five  minutes  your  host  has  vanished.  In 
another  five  his  wife  has  followed  him,  and  you  are 
left  with  a  very  charming  maiden  doubtless,  but  cer- 
tainly not  the  person  you  came  to  see.  She  chatters  and 
you  grin ;  but  you  leave  with  the  very  strong  impression 
of  a  wasted  morning.  This  has  been  my  experience  once 
or  twice.  I  have  even  said  as  pointedly  as  I  dared  to  a 
man :  "  I  came  to  see  you."  "  You'd  better  see  me  in 
my  office,  then.  The  house  belongs  to  my  women-folk  — 
to  my  daughter,  that  is  to  say."  He  spoke  with  truth. 


8  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

The  American  of  wealth  is  owned  by  his  family.  They 
exploit  him  for  bullion,  and  sometimes  it  seems  to  me 
that  his  lot  is  a  lonely  one.  The  women  get  the  ha'- 
pence ;  the  kicks  are  all  his  own.  Nothing  is  too  good 
for  an  American's  daughter  (I  speak  here  of  the  moneyed 
classes).  The  girls  take  every  gift  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Yet  they  develop  greatly  when  a  catastrophe  arrives  and 
the  man  of  many  millions  goes  up  or  goes  down  and 
his  daughters  take  to  stenography  or  type- writing.  I  have 
heard  many  tales  of  heroism  from  the  lips  of  girls  who 
counted  the  principals  among  their  friends.  The  crash 
came ;  Mamie  or  Hattie  or  Sadie  gave  up  their  maid,  their 
carriages  and  candy,  and  with  a  No.  2  Remington  and  a 
stout  heart  set  about  earning  their  daily  bread. 

"And  did  I  drop  her  from  the  list  of  my  friends? 
No,  Sir,"  said  a  scarlet-lipped  vision  in  white  lace. 
"That  might  happen  to  me  any  day." 

It  may  be  this  sense  of  possible  disaster  in  the  air  that 
makes  San  Franciscan  society  go  with  so  captivating  a 
rush  and  whirl.  Recklessness  is  in  the  air.  I  can't  ex- 
plain where  it  comes  from,  but  there  it  is.  The  roaring 
winds  off  the  Pacific  make  you  drunk  to  begin  with. 
The  aggressive  luxury  on  all  sides  helps  out  the  intoxi- 
cation, and  you  spin  for  ever  "  down  the  ringing  groves  of 
change  "  (there  is  no  small  change,  by  the  way,  west  of 
the  Rockies)  as  long  as  money  lasts.  They  make  greatly 
and  they  spend  lavishly  ;  not  only  the  rich  but  the  arti- 
sans, who  pay  nearly  five  pounds  for  a  suit  of  clothes  and 
for  other  luxuries  in  proportion.  The  young  men  rejoice  in 
the  days  of  their  youth.  They  gamble,  yacht,  race,  en- 
joy prize-fights  and  cock-fights  — the  one  openly,  the  other 
in  secret  —  they  establish  luxurious  clubs;  they  break 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  9 

themselves  over  horse-flesh  and  —  other  things ;  and  they 
are  instant  in  quarrel.  At  twenty  they  are  experienced 
in  business ;  embark  in  vast  enterprises,  take  partners  as 
experienced  as  themselves,  and  go  to  pieces  with  as  much 
splendour  as  their  neighbours.  Remember  that  the  men 
who  stocked  California  in  the  Fifties  were  physically,  and 
as  far  as  regards  certain  tough  virtues,  the  pick  of  the 
earth.  The  inept  and  the  weakly  died  en  route  or  went 
under  in  the  days  of  construction.  To  this  nucleus  were 
added  all  the  races  of  the  Continent  —  French,  Italian, 
German,  and,  of  course,  the  Jew.  The  result  you  shall 
see  in  large-boned,  deep-chested,  delicate-handed  women, 
and  long,  elastic,  well-built  boys.  It  needs  no  little 
golden  badge  swinging  from  his  watch-chain  to  ma.rk  the 
Native  Son  of  the  Golden  West — the  country -bred  of 
California.  Him  I  love  because  he  is  devoid  of  fear,  car- 
ries himself  like  a  man,  and  has  a  heart  as  big  as  his 
boots.  I  fancy,  too,  he  knows  how  to  enjoy  the  blessings 
of  life  that  his  world  so  abundantly  bestows  upon  him. 
At  least  I  heard  a  little  rat  of  a  creature  with  hock- 
bottle  shoulders  explaining  that  a  man  from  Chicago 
could  pull  the  eye-teeth  of  a  Californian  in  business. 
Well,  if  I  lived  in  Fairyland,  where  cherries  were  as  big 
as  plums,  plums  as  big  as  apples,  and  strawberries  of  no 
account ;  where  the  procession  of  the  fruits  of  the  seasons 
was  like  a  pageant  in  a  Drury  Lane  pantomime  and  where 
the  dry  air  was  wine,  I  should  let  business  slide  once  in 
a  way  and  kick  up  my  heels  with  my  fellows.  The  tale 
of  the  resources  of  California  —  vegetable  and  mineral  — 
is  a  fairy  tale.  You  can  read  it  in  books.  You  would 
never  believe  me.  All  manner  of  nourishing  food  from 
sea-fish  to  beef  may  be  bought  at  the  lowest  prices  ;  and 


10  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  people  are  well  developed  and  of  a  high  stomach. 
They  demand  ten  shillings  for  tinkering  a  jammed  lock  of 
a  trunk ;  they  receive  sixteen  shillings  a  day  for  working 
as  carpenters;  they  spend  many  sixpences  on  very  bad 
cigars,  and  they  go  mad  over  a  prize-fight.  When  they 
disagree,  they  do  so  fatally,  with  firearms  in  their  hands, 
and  on  the  public  streets.  I  was  just  clear  of  Mission 
Street  when  the  trouble  began  between  two  gentlemen, 
one  of  whom  perforated  the  other.  When  a  policeman, 
whose  name  I  do  not  recollect,  "fatally  shot  Ed.  Kearney," 
for  attempting  to  escape  arrest,  I  was  in  the  next  street. 
For  these  things  I  am  thankful.  It  is  enough  to  travel 
with  a  policeman  in  a  tram-car  and  while  he  arranges  his 
coat-tails  as  he  sits  down,  to  catch  sight  of  a  loaded  re- 
volver. It  is  enough  to  know  that  fifty  per  cent  of  the 
men  in  the  public  saloons  carry  pistols  about  them.  The 
Chinaman  waylays  his  adversary  and  methodically  chops 
him  to  pieces  with  his  hatchet.  Then  the  Press  roar 
about  the  brutal  ferocity  of  the  Pagan.  The  Italian  re- 
constructs his  friend  with  a  long  knife.  The  Press  com- 
plains of  the  waywardness  of  the  alien.  The  Irishman 
and  the  native  Calif ornian  in  their  hours  of  discontent 
use  the  revolver,  not  once,  but  six  times.  The  Press 
records  the  fact,  and  asks  in  the  next  column  whether  the 
world  can  parallel  the  progress  of  San  Francisco.  The 
American  who  loves  this  country  will  tell  you  that  this 
sort  of  thing  is  confined  to  the  lower  classes.  Just  at 
present  an  ex-judge  who  was  sent  to  jail  by  another 
judge  (upon  my  word,  I  cannot  tell  whether  these  titles 
mean  anything)  is  breathing  red-hot  vengeance  against 
his  enemy.  The  papers  have  interviewed  both  parties 
and  confidently  expect  a  fatal  issue. 


FBOM   SEA  TO   SEA  11 

Now  let  me  draw  breath  and  curse  the  negro  waiter 
and  through  him  the  negro  in  service  generally.  He  has 
been  made  a  citizen  with  a  vote ;  consequently  both  politi- 
cal parties  play  with  him.  But  that  is  neither  here  nor 
there.  He  will  commit  in  one  meal  every  betise  that  a 
scullion  fresh  from  the  plough-tail  is  capable  of,  and  he 
will  continue  to  repeat  those  faults.  He  is  as  complete 
a  heavy-footed,  uncomprehending,  bungle-fisted  fool  as 
any  memsahib  in  the  East  ever  took  into  her  establish- 
ment. But  he  is  according  to  law  a  free  and  independ- 
ent citizen  —  consequently  above  reproof  or  criticism. 
He,  and  he  alone,  in  this  insane  city  will  wait  at  table 
(the  Chinaman  doesn't  count).  He  is  untrained,  inept, 
but  he  will  fill  the  place  and  draw  the  pay.  Now  God 
and  his  father's  Kismet  made  him  intellectually  inferior 
to  the  Oriental.  He  insists  on  pretending  that  he  serves 
tables  by  accident  —  as  a  sort  of  amusement.  He  wishes 
you  to  understand  this  little  fact.  You  wish  to  eat  your 
meals,  and  if  possible  to  have  them  properly  served. 
He  is  a  big,  black,  vain  baby  and  a  man  rolled  into  one. 
A  coloured  gentleman  who  insisted  on  getting  me  pie 
when  I  wanted  something  else,  demanded  information 
about  India.  I  gave  him  some  facts  about  wages.  "  Oh 
hell,"  said  he,  cheerfully,  "that  wouldn't  keep  me  in 
cigars  for  a  month."  Then  he  fawned  on  me  for  a  ten- 
cent  piece.  Later  he  took  it  upon  himself  to  pity  the 
natives  of  India — "heathen"  he  called  them,  this  Woolly 
One  whose  race  has  been  the  butt  of  every  comedy  on 
the  Asiatic  stage  since  the  beginning.  And  I  turned  and 
saw  by  the  head  upon  his  shoulders  that  he  was  a  Yoruba 
man,  if  there  be  any  truth  in  ethnological  castes.  He 
did  his  thinking  in  English,  but  he  was  a  Yoruba  negro, 


12  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

and  the  race  type  had  remained  the  same  throughout  his 
generations.  And  the  room  was  full  of  other  races  — 
some  that  looked  exactly  like  Gallas  (but  the  trade  was 
never  recruited  from  that  side  of  Africa),  some  duplicates 
of  Cameroon  heads,  and  some  Kroomen,  if  ever  Kroomeii 
wore  evening  dress.  The  American  does  not  consider 
little  matters  of  descent,  though  by  this  time  he  ought 
to  know  all  about  "  damnable  heredity."  As  a  general 
rule  he  keeps  himself  very  far  from  the  negro  and  says 
unpretty  things  about  him.  There  are  six  million  ne- 
groes more  or  less  in  the  States,  and  they  are  increas- 
ing. The  Americans  once  having  made  them  citizens 
cannot  unmake  them.  He  says,  in  his  newspapers,  they 
ought  to  be  elevated  by  education.  He  is  trying  this : 
but  it  is  like  to  be  a  long  job,  because  black  blood  is  much 
more  adhesive  than  white,  and  throws  back  with  annoying 
persistence.  When  the  negro  gets  a  religion  he  returns, 
directly  as  a  hiving  bee,  to  the  first  instincts  of  his  peo- 
ple. Just  now  a  wave  of  religion  is  sweeping  over  some 
of  the  Southern  States.  Up  to  the  present,  two  Messiahs 
and  one  Daniel  have  appeared ;  and  several  human  sacri- 
fices have  been  offered  up  to  these  incarnations.  The 
Daniel  managed  to  get  three  young  men,  who  he  insisted 
were  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abednego,  to  walk  into  a 
blast  furnace;  guaranteeing  non-combustion.  They  did 
not  return.  I  have  seen  nothing  of  this  kind,  but  I 
have  attended  a  negro  church.  The  congregation  were 
moved  by  the  spirit  to  groans  and  tears,  and  one  of 
them  danced  up  the  aisle  to  the  mourners'  bench.  The 
motive  may  have  been  genuine.  The  movements  of  the 
shaken  body  were  those  of  a  Zanzibar  stick-dance,  such 
as  you  see  at  Aden  on  the  coal  boats ;  and  even  as  I 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  13 

watched  the  people,  the  links  that  bound  them  to  the 
white  man  snapped  one  by  one,  and  I  saw  before  me  — 
the  hubshi  (the  Woolly  One)  praying  to  the  God  he  did  not 
understand.  Those  neatly  dressed  folk  on  the  benches, 
the  grey-headed  elder  by  the  window,  were  savages  — 
neither  more  nor  less.  What  will  the  American  do  with 
the  negro  ?  The  South  will  not  consort  with  him.  In 
some  States  miscegenation  is  a  penal  offence.  The 
North  is  every  year  less  and  less  in  need  of  his  services. 
And  he  will  not  disappear.  He  will  continue  as  a  prob- 
lem. His  friends  will  urge  that  he  is  as  good  as  the 
white  man.  His  enemies  ...  it  is  not  good  to  be  a  negro 
in  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  San  Francisco  and 
her  merry  maidens,  her  strong,  swaggering  men,  and  her 
wealth  of  gold  and  pride.  They  bore  me  to  a  banquet 
in  honour  of  a  brave  Lieutenant  —  Carlin,  of  the  Van- 
dalia  —  who  stuck  by  his  ship  in  the  great  cyclone  at 
Apia  and  comported  himself  as  an  officer  should.  On 
that  occasion  —  'twas  at  the  Bohemian  Club  —  I  heard 
oratory  with  the  roundest  of  o's ;  and  devoured  a  dinner 
the  memory  of  which  will  descend  with  me  into  the 
hungry  grave.  There  were  about  forty  speeches  de- 
livered ;  and  not  one  of  them  was  average  or  ordinary. 
It  was  my  first  introduction  to  the  American  Eagle 
screaming  for  all  it  was  worth.  The  Lieutenant's  hero- 
ism served  as  a  peg  from  which  those  silver-tongued  ones 
turned  themselves  loose  and  kicked.  They  ransacked 
the  clouds  of  sunset,  the  thunderbolts  of  Heaven,  the 
deeps  of  Hell,  and  the  splendours  of  the  Resurrection, 
for  tropes  and  metaphors,  and  hurled  the  result  at  the 
head  of  the  guest  of  the  evening.  Never  since  the 


14  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

morning  stars  sang  together  for  joy,  I  learned,  had  an 
amazed  creation  witnessed  such  superhuman  bravery  as 
that  displayed  by  the  American  navy  in  the  Samoa 
cyclone.  Till  earth  rotted  in  the  phosphorescent  star- 
and-stripe  slime  of  a  decayed  universe  that  God-like 
gallantry  would  not  be  forgotten.  I  grieve  that  I  can- 
not give  the  exact  words.  My  attempt  at  reproducing 
their  spirit  is  pale  and  inadequate.  I  sat  bewildered 
on  a  coruscating  Niagara  of  —  blatherumskite.  It  was 
magnificent  —  it  was  stupendous;  and  I  was  conscious 
of  a  wicked  desire  to  hide  my  face  in  a  napkin  and 
grin.  Then,  according  to  rule,  they  produced  their  dead, 
and  across  the  snowy  tablecloths  dragged  the  corpse 
of  every  man  slain  in  the  Civil  War,  and  hurled  defiance 
at  "  our  natural  enemy  "  (England,  so  please  you !)  "  with 
her  chain  of  fortresses  across  the  world."  Thereafter 
they  glorified  their  nation  afresh,  from  the  beginning, 
in  case  any  detail  should  have  been  overlooked,  and 
that  made  me  uncomfortable  for  their  sakes.  How  in 
the  world  can  a  white  man,  a  Sahib  of  Our  blood,  stand 
up  and  plaster  praise  on  his  own  country?  He  can 
think  as  highly  as  he  likes,  but  his  open-mouthed 
vehemence  of  adoration  struck  me  almost  as  indeli- 
cate. My  hosts  talked  for  rather  more  than  three 
hours,  and  at  the  end  seemed  ready  for  three  hours 
more.  But  when  the  Lieutenant  —  such  a  big,  brave, 
gentle  giant !  —  rose  to  his  feet,  he  delivered  what 
seemed  to  me  as  the  speech  of  the  evening.  I  re- 
member nearly  the  whole  of  it,  and  it  ran  something 
in  this  way:  "Gentlemen  —  it's  very  good  of  you  to 
give  me  this  dinner  and  to  tell  me  all  these  pretty 
things,  but  what  I  want  you  to  understand  —  the  fact 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  15 

is  —  what  we  want  and  what  we  ought  to  get  at  once 
is  a  navy  —  more  ships  —  lots  of  'em  — "  Then  we 
howled  the  top  of  the  roof  off,  and  I,  for  one,  fell  in 
love  with  Carlin  on  the  spot.  Wallah  !  He  was  a  man. 

The  Prince  among  merchants  bade  me  take  no  heed 
to  the  warlike  sentiments  of  some  of  the  old  Generals. 
"The  sky-rockets  are  thrown  in  for  effect,"  quoth  he, 
"  and  whenever  we  get  on  our  hind  legs  we  always 
express  a  desire  to  chaw  up  England.  It's  a  sort  of 
family  affair." 

And  indeed,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  there  is 
no  other  country  for  the  American  public  speaker  to 
trample  upon. 

France  has  Germany  ;  we  have  Russia  ;  for  Italy,  Aus- 
tria is  provided;  and  the  humblest  Pathaii  possesses 
an  ancestral  enemy.  Only  America  stands  out  of  the 
racket ;  and  therefore,  to  be  in  fashion,  makes  a  sand-bag 
of  the  mother-country,  and  bangs  her  when  occasion 
requires.  "  The  chain  of  fortresses  "  man,  a  fascinating 
talker,  explained  to  me  after  the  affair  that  he  was  com- 
pelled to  blow  off  steam.  Everybody  expected  it.  When 
we  had  chanted  "  The  Star-Spangled  Banner  "  not  more 
than  eight  times,  we  adjourned.  America  is  a  very  great 
country,  but  it  is  not  yet  Heaven  with  electric  lights  and 
plush  fittings,  as  the  speakers  professed  to  believe.  My 
listening  mind  went  back  to  the  politicians  in  the  saloon 
who  wasted  no  time  in  talking  about  freedom,  but 
quietly  made  arrangements  to  impose  their  will  on  the 
citizens.  "  The  Judge  is  a  great  man,  but  give  thy 
presents  to  the  Clerk,"  as  the  proverb  saith. 

And  what  more  remains  to  tell  ?  I  cannot  write  con- 
nectedly, because  I  am  in  love  with  all  those  girls 


16  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

aforesaid  and  some  others  who  do  not  appear  in  the 
invoice.  The  type-writer  girl  is  an  institution  of  which 
the  comic  papers  make  much  capital,  but  she  is  vastly 
convenient.  She  and  a  companion  rent  a  room  in  a 
business  quarter,  and  copy  manuscript  at  the  rate  of 
six  annas  a  page.  Only  a  woman  can  manage  a  type- 
writing machine,  because  she  has  served  apprenticeship 
to  the  sewing-machine.  She  can  earn  as  much  as  a 
hundred  dollars  a  month,  and  professes  to  regard  this 
form  of  bread-winning  as  her  natural  destiny.  But  oh 
how  she  hates  it  in  her  heart  of  hearts !  When  I  had 
got  over  the  surprise  of  doing  business  and  trying  to 
give  orders  to  a  young  woman  of  coldly  clerkly  aspect, 
intrenched  behind  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  I  made  in- 
quiries concerning  the  pleasures  of  this  independence. 
They  liked  it  —  indeed,  they  did.  'Twas  the  natural 
fate  of  almost  all  girls,  —  the  recognised  custom  in 
America,  —  and  I  was  a  barbarian  not  to  see  it  in  that 
light. 

"  Well,  and  after  ?  "  said  I.     «  What  happens  ?  " 

"  We  work  for  our  bread." 

"  And  then  what  do  you  expect  ?  " 

"  Then  we  shall  work  for  our  bread." 

"Till  you  die?" 

"  Ye-es  —  unless  —  " 

"  Unless  what  ?    A  man  works  till  he  dies." 

" So  shall  we."    This  without  enthusiasm  —  "I  sup- 
pose." 

.  Said  the  partner  in  the  firm  audaciously :  "  Some- 
times we  marry  our  employers  —  at  least  that's  what  the 
newspapers  say."  The  hand  banged  on  half  a  dozen  of 
the  keys  of  the  machine  at  once.  "  Yes,  I  don't  care.  I 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  17 

hate  it  —  I  hate  it  —  I  hate  it,  and  you  needn't  look 
so!" 

The  senior  partner  was  regarding  the  rebel  with  grave- 
eyed  reproach. 

"  I  thought  you  did,"  said  I.  "  I  don't  suppose  Ameri- 
can girls  are  much  different  from  English  ones  in  in- 
stinct." 

"Isn't  it  Theophile  Gautier  who  says  that  the  only 
differences  between  country  and  country  lie  in  the  slang 
and  the  uniform  of  the  police  ?  " 

Now  in  the  name  of  all  the  Gods  at  once,  what  is  one 
to  say  to  a  young  lady  (who  in  England  would  be  a  Per- 
son) who  earns  her  own  bread,  and  very  naturally  hates 
the  employ,  and  slings  out-of-the-way  quotations  at  your 
head  ?  That  one  falls  in  love  with  her  goes  without  say- 
ing ;  but  that  is  not  enough. 

A  mission  should  be  established. 

VOL.  II  —  C 


No.   XXVI 

TAKES  ME  THROUGH  BRET  HARTE's  COUNTRY,  AND  TO 
PORTLAND  WITH  "  OLD  MAN  CALIFORNIA."  EXPLAINS 
HOW  TWO  VAGABONDS  BECAME  HOMESICK  THROUGH 
LOOKING  AT  OTHER  PEOPLE'S  HOUSES. 

"  I  walked  in  the  lonesome  even, 
And  who  so  sad  as  I, 
As  I  saw  the  young  men  and  maidens 
Merrily  passing  by  ?  " 

SAN  FRANCISCO  has  only  one  drawback.  'Tis  hard 
to  leave.  When  like  the  pious  Hans  Breitmann  I  "  cut 
that  city  by  the  sea  "  it  was  with  regrets  for  the  pleasant 
places  left  behind,  for  the  men  who  were  so  clever,  and 
the  women  who  were  so  witty,  for  the  "  dives,"  the  beer- 
halls,  the  bucket-shops,  and  the  poker-hells  where  human- 
ity was  going  to  the  Devil  with  shouting  and  laughter 
and  song  and  the  rattle  of  dice-boxes.  I  would  fain 
have  stayed,  but  I  feared  that  an  evil  end  would  come 
to  me  when  my  money  was  all  spent  and  I  descended 
to  the  street  corner.  A  voice  inside  me  said:  "Get 
out  of  this.  Go  north.  Strike  for  Victoria  and  Van- 
couver. Bask  for  a  day  under  the  shadow  of  the  old 
flag."  So  I  set  forth  from  San  Francisco  to  Portland 
in  Oregon,  and  that  was  a  railroad  run  of  thirty-six 
hours. 

The  Oakland  railway  terminus,  whence  all  the  main 
18 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  19 

lines  start,  does  not  own  anything  approaching  to  a 
platform.  A  yard  with  a  dozen  or  more  tracks  is 
roughly  asphalted,  and  the  traveller  laden  with  hand- 
bags skips  merrily  across  the  metals  in  search  of  his 
own  particular  train.  The  bells  of  half  a  dozen  shunt- 
ing engines  are  tolling  suggestively  in  his  ears.  If 
he  is  run  down,  so  much  the  worse  for  him.  "When 
the  bell  rings,  look  out  for  the  locomotive."  Long  use 
has  made  the  nation  familiar  and  even  contemptuous 
towards  trains  to  an  extent  which  God  never  intended. 
Women  who  in  England  would  gather  up  their  skirts  and 
scud  timorously  over  a  level  crossing  in  the  country, 
here  talk  dress  and  babies  under  the  very  nose  of  the 
cow-catcher,  and  little  children  dally  with  the  moving 
car  in  a  manner  horrible  to  behold.  We  pulled  out  at 
the  wholly  insignificant  speed  of  twenty-five  miles  an 
hour  through  the  streets  of  a  suburb  of  fifty  thousand, 
and  in  our  progress  among  the  carts  and  the  children 
and  the  shop  fronts  slew  nobody ;  at  which  I  was  not 
a  little  disappointed. 

When  the  negro  porter  bedded  me  up  for  the  night 
and  I  had  solved  the  problem  of  undressing  while  lying 
down, — I  was  much  cheered  by  the  thought  that  if 
anything  happened  I  should  have  to  stay  where  I  was 
and  wait  till  the  kerosene  lamps  set  the  overturned  car 
alight  and  burned  me  to  death.  It  is  easier  to  get  out 
of  a  full  theatre  than  to  leave  a  Pullman  in  haste. 

By  the  time  I  had  discovered  that  a  profusion  of  nickel- 
plating,  plush,  and  damask  does  not  compensate  for 
closeness  and  dust,  the  train  ran  into  the  daylight  on  the 
banks  of  the  Sacramento  Eiver.  A  few  windows  were 
gingerly  opened  after  the  bunks  had  been  reconverted 


20  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

into  seats,  but  that  long  coffin-car  was  by  no  means 
ventilated,  and  we  were  a  gummy,  grimy  crew  who  sat 
there.  At  six  in  the  morning  the  heat  was  distinctly 
unpleasant,  but  seeing  with  the  eye  of  the  flesh  that  I 
was  in  Bret  Harte's  own  country,  I  rejoiced.  There 
were  the  pines  and  madrone-clad  hills  his  miners  lived 
and  fought  among ;  there  was  the  heated  red  earth  that 
showed  whence  the  gold  had  been  washed;  the  dry 
gulch,  the  red,  dusty  road  where  Hamblin  was  used  to 
stop  the  stage  in  the  intervals  of  his  elegant  leisure  and 
superior  card-play ;  there  was  the  timber  felled  and 
sweating  resin  in  the  sunshine ;  and,  above  all,  there 
was  the  quivering  pungent  heat  that  Bret  Harte  drives 
into  your  dull  brain  with  the  magic  of  his  pen.  When 
we  stopped  at  a  collection  of  packing-cases  dignified  by 
the  name  of  a  town,  my  felicity  was  complete.  The 
name  of  the  place  was  something  offensive,  —  Amber- 
ville  or  Jacksonburgh,  —  but  it  owned  a  cast-iron  fountain 
worthy  of  a  town  of  thirty  thousand.  Next  to  the  foun- 
tain was  a  "  hotel,"  at  least  seventeen  feet  high  including 
the  chimney,  and  next  to  the  hotel  was  the  forest  —  the 
pine,  the  oak,  and  the  untrammelled  undergrowth  of 
the  hillside.  A  cinnamon-bear  cub  —  Baby  Sylvester 
in  the  very  fur  —  was  tied  to  the  stump  of  a  tree  oppo- 
site the  fountain;  a  pack-mule  dozed  in  the  dust-haze, 
a  red-shirted  miner  in  a  slouch  hat  supported  the  hotel, 
a,  blue-shirted  miner  swung  round  the  corner,  and  the 
two  went  indoors  for  a  drink.  A  girl  came  out  of  the 
only  other  house  but  one,  and  shading  her  eyes  with  a 
brown  hand  stared  at  the  panting  train.  She  didn't 
recognise  me,  but  I  knew  her  —  had  known  her  for  years. 
She  was  M'liss.  She  never  married  the  schoolmaster, 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  21 

after  all,  but  stayed,  always  young  and  always  fair, 
among  the  pines.  I  knew  Red-Shirt  too.  He  was  one 
of  the  bearded  men  who  stood  back  when  Tennessee 
claimed  his  partner  from  the  hands  of  the  Law.  The 
Sacramento  River,  a  few  yards  away,  shouted  that  all 
these  things  were  true.  The  train  went  on  while  Baby 
Sylvester  stood  on  his  downy  head,  and  M'liss  swung  her 
sun-bonnet  by  the  strings. 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  "  said  a  lawyer  who  was  travel- 
ling with  me.  "  It's  a  new  world  to  you ;  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No.  It's  quite  familiar.  I  was  never  out  of  Eng- 
land; it's  as  if  I  saw  it  all." 

Quick  as  light  came  the  answer :  " '  Yes,  they  lived 
once  thus  at  Venice  when  the  miners  were  the  kings.' " 

I  loved  that  lawyer  on  the  spot.  We  drank  to  Bret 
Harte  who,  you  remember,  "  claimed  California,  but 
California  never  claimed  him.  He's  turned  English." 

Lying  back  in  state,  I  waited  for  the  flying  miles  to 
turn  over  the  pages  of  the  book  I  knew.  They  brought 
me  all  I  desired  —  from  the  Man  of  no  Account  sitting 
on  a  stump  and  playing  with  a  dog,  to  "  that  most  sar- 
castic man,  the  quiet  Mister  Brown."  He  boarded  the 
train  from  out  of  the  woods,  and  there  was  venom  and 
sulphur  on  his  tongue.  He  had  just  lost  a  lawsuit.  Only 
Yuba  Bill  failed  to  appear.  The  train  had  taken  his 
employment  from  him.  A  nameless  ruffian  backed  me 
into  a  corner  and  began  telling  me  about  the  resources 
of  the  country,  and  what  it  would  eventually  become. 
All  I  remember  of  his  lecture  was  that  you  could  catch 
trout  in  the  Sacramento  River  —  the  stream  that  we 
followed  so  faithfully. 

Then  rose  a  tough  and  wiry  old  man  with  grizzled  hair 


22  FKGM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  made  inquiries  about  the  trout.  To  him  was  added 
the  secretary  of  a  life-insurance  company.  I  fancy  he 
was  travelling  to  rake  in  the  dead  that  the  train  killed. 
But  he,  too,  was  a  fisherman,  and  the  two  turned  to 
meward.  The  frankness  of  a  Westerner  is  delightful. 
They  tell  me  that  in  the  Eastern  States  I  shall  meet 
another  type  of  man  and  a  more  reserved.  The  Califor- 
iiian  always  speaks  of  the  man  from  the  New  England 
States  as  a  different  breed.  It  is  our  Punjab  and  Madras 
over  again,  but  more  so.  The  old  man  was  on  a  holiday 
in  search  of  fish.  When  he  discovered  a  brother-loafer 
he  proposed  a  confederation  of  rods.  Quoth  the  insur- 
ance-agent, "  I'm  not  staying  any  time  in  Portland,  but 
I  will  introduce  you  to  a  man  there  who'll  tell  you 
about  fishing."  The  two  told  strange  tales  as  we  slid 
through  the  forests  and  saw  afar  off  the  snowy  head  of 
a  great  mountain.  There  were  vineyards,  fruit  orchards, 
and  wheat  fields  where  the  land  opened  out,  and  every 
ten  miles  or  so,  twenty  or  thirty  wooden  houses  and  at 
least  three  churches.  A  large  town  would  have  a  popu- 
lation of  two  thousand  and  an  infinite  belief  in  its  own 
capacities.  Sometimes  a  flaring  advertisement  flanked 
the  line,  calling  for  men  to  settle  down,  take  up  the 
ground,  and  make  their  home  there.  At  a  big  town  we 
could  pick  up  the  local  newspaper,  narrow  as  the  cutting 
edge  of  a  chisel  and  twice  as  keen  —  a  journal  filled  with 
the  prices  of  stock,  notices  of  improved  reaping  and 
binding  machines,  movements  of  eminent  citizens  — 
"  whose  fame  beyond  their  own  abode  extends  —  for 
miles  along  the  Harlem  road."  There  was  not  much 
grace  about  these  papers,  but  all  breathed  the  same  need 
for  good  men,  steady  men  who  would  plough,  and  till, 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  23 

and  build  schools  for  their  children,  and  make  a  township 
in  the  hills.  Once  only  I  found  a  sharp  change  in  the 
note  and  a  very  pathetic  one.  I  think  it  was  a  young 
soul  in  trouble  who  was  writing  poetry.  The  editor  had 
jammed  the  verses  between  the  flamboyant  advertisement 
of  a  real-estate  agent  —  a  man  who  sells  you  land  and 
lies  about  it  —  and  that  of  a  Jew  tailor  who  disposed  of 
"  nobby  "  suits  at  "  cut-throat  prices."  Here  are  two 
verses ;  I  think  they  tell  their  own  story :  — 

"  God  made  the  pine  with  its  root  in  the  earth, 

Its  top  in  the  sky  ; 

They  have  burned  the  pine  to  increase  the  worth 
Of  the  wheat  and  the  silver  rye. 

"  Go  weigh  the  cost  of  the  soul  of  the  pine 

Cut  off  from  the  sky  ; 

And  the  price  of  the  wheat  that  grows  so  fine 
And  the  worth  of  the  silver  rye  !  " 

The  thin-lipped,  keen-eyed  men  who  boarded  the  train 
would  not  read  that  poetry,  or,  if  they  did,  would  not 
understand.  Heaven  guard  that  poor  pine  in  the  desert 
and  keep  "  its  top  in  the  sky  "  ! 

When  the  train  took  to  itself  an  extra  engine  and 
began  to  breathe  heavily,  some  one  said  that  we  were 
ascending  the  Siskiyou  Mountains.  We  had  been  climb-, 
ing  steadily  from  San  Francisco,  and  at  last  won  to  over 
four  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  always  running  through 
forest.  Then,  naturally  enough,  we  came  down,  but  we 
dropped  two  thousand  two  hundred  feet  in  about  thirteen 
miles.  It  was  not  so  much  the  grinding  of  the  brakes 
along  the  train,  or  the  sight  of  three  curves  of  track 
apparently  miles  below  us,  or  even  the  vision  of  a  goods- 


24  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

train  apparently  just  under  our  wheels,  or  even  the 
tunnels,  that  made  me  reflect;  it  was  the  trestles  over 
which  we  crawled,  —  trestles  something  over  a  hundred 
feet  high  and  looking  like  a  collection  of  match-sticks. 

"I  guess  our  timber  is  as  much  a  curse  as  a  blessing," 
said  the  old  man  from  Southern  California.  "  These 
trestles  last  very  well  for  five  or  six  years  ;  then  they 
get  out  of  repair,  and  a  train  goes  through  'em,  or  else  a 
forest  fire  burns  'em  up." 

This  was  said  in  the  middle  of  a  groaning,  shivering 
trestle.  An  occasional  plate-layer  took  a  look  at  us  as 
we  went  down,  but  that  railway  didn't  Avaste  men  on 
inspection  duty.  Very  often  there  were  cattle  on  the 
track,  against  which  the  engine  used  a  diabolical  form 
of  whistling.  The  old  man  had  been  a  driver  in  his 
youth,  and  beguiled  the  way  with  cheery  anecdotes  of 
what  might  be  expected  if  we  fouled  a  young  calf. 

"You  see,  they  get  their  legs  under  the  cow-catcher, 
and  that'll  put  an  engine  off  the  line.  I  remember  when 
a  hog  wrecked  an  excursion-train  and  killed  sixty  people. 
'Guess  the  engineer  will  look  out,  though." 

There  is  considerably  too  much  guessing  about  this 
large  nation.  As  one  of  them  put  it  rather  forcibly: 
"  We  guess  a  trestle  will  stand  for  ever,  and  we  guess 
that  we  can  patch  up  a  washout  on  the  track,  and  we 
guess  the  road's  clear,  and  sometimes  we  guess  ourselves 
into  the  deepot,  and  sometimes  we  guess  ourselves  into 
Hell." 


The  descent  brought  us  far  into  Oregon  and  a  timber 
and  wheat  country.     We  drove  through  wheat  and  pine 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  25 

in  alternate  slices,  but  pine  chiefly,  till  we  reached  Port- 
land, which  is  a  city  of  fifty  thousand,  possessing  the 
electric  light  of  course,  equally,  of  course,  devoid  of  pave- 
ments, and  a  port  of  entry  about  a  hundred  miles  from 
the  sea  at  which  big  steamers  can  load.  It  is  a  poor 
city  that  cannot  say  it  has  no  equal  on  the  Pacific  coast. 
Portland  shouts  this  to  the  pines  which  run  down  from 
a  thousand-foot  ridge  clear  up  to  the  city.  You  may  sit 
in  a  bedizened  bar-room  furnished  with  telephone  and 
clicker,  and  in  half  an  hour  be  in  the  woods. 

Portland  produces  lumber  and  jig-saw  fittings  for 
houses,  and  beer  and  buggies,  and  bricks  and  biscuit ; 
and,  in  case  you  should  miss  the  fact,  there  are  glorified 
views  of  the  town  hung  up  in  public  places  with  the 
value  of  the  products  set  down  in  dollars.  All  this  is 
excellent  and  exactly  suitable  to  the  opening  of  a  new 
country ;  but  when  a  man  tells  you  it  is  civilisation,  you 
object.  The  first  thing  that  the  civilised  man  learns  to 
do  is  to  keep  the  dollars  in  the  background,  because 
they  are  only  the  oil  of  the  machine  that  makes  life  go 
smoothly. 

Portland  is  so  busy  that  it  can't  attend  to  its  own 
sewage  or  paving,  and  the  four-storey  brick  blocks  front 
cobble-stones  and  plank  sidewalks  and  other  things  much 
worse.  I  saw  a  foundation  being  dug  out.  The  sewage 
of  perhaps  twenty  years  ago,  had  thoroughly  soaked  into 
the  soil,  and  there  was  a  familiar  and  Oriental  look  about 
the  compost  that  flew  up  with  each  shovel-load.  Yet  the 
local  papers,  as  was  just  and  proper,  swore  there  was  no 
place  like  Portland,  Oregon,  U.S.A.,  chronicled  the  per- 
formances of  Oregonians,  "claimed"  prominent  citizens 
elsewhere  as  Oregonians,  and  fought  tooth  and-  nail  for 


26  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

dock,  rail,  and  wharfage  projects.  And  you  could  find 
men  who  had  thrown  in  their  lives  with  the  city,  who 
were  bound  up  in  it,  and  worked  their  life  out  for  what 
they  conceived  to  be  its  material  prosperity.  Pity  it  is  to 
record  that  in  this  strenuous,  labouring  town  there  had 
been,  a  week  before,  a  shooting-case.  One  well-known 
man  had  shot  another  on  the  street,  and  was  now  pleading 
self-defence  because  the  other  man  had,  or  the  murderer 
thought  he  had,  a  pistol  about  him.  Not  content  with 
shooting  him  dead,  he  squibbed  off  his  revolver  into  him 
as  he  lay.  I  read  the  pleadings,  and  they  made  me  ill. 
So  far  as  I  could  judge,  if  the  dead  man's  body  had  been 
found  with  a  pistol  on  it,  the  shooter  would  have  gone 
free.  Apart  from  the  mere  murder,  cowardly  enough  in 
itself,  there  was  a  refinement  of  cowardice  in  the  plea. 
Here  in  this  civilised  city  the  surviving  brute  was  afraid 
he  would  be  shot  —  fancied  he  saw  the  other  man  make 
a  motion  to  his  hip-pocket,  and  so  on.  Eventually  the 
jury  disagreed.  And  the  degrading  thing  was  that  the 
trial  was  reported  by  men  who  evidently  understood  all 
about  the  pistol,  was  tried  before  a  jury  who  were 
versed  in  the  etiquette  of  the  hip-pocket,  and  was 
discussed  on  the  streets  by  men  equally  initiate. 

But  let  us  return  to  more  cheerful  things.  The  in- 
surance-agent introduced  us  as  friends  to  a  real-estate 
man,  who  promptly  bade  us  go  up  the  Columbia  Eiver 
for  a  day  while  he  made  inquiries  about  fishing.  There 
was  no  overwhelming  formality.  The  old  man  was 
addressed  as  "California,"  I  answered  indifferently  to 
"  England "  or  "  Johnny  Bull,"  and  the  real-estate  man 
was  "  Portland."  This  was  a  lofty  and  spacious  form 
of  address. 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  27 

So  California  and  I  took  a  steamboat,  and  upon  a  sump- 
tuous blue  and  gold  morning  steered  up  the  Willamette 
River,  on  which  Portland  stands,  into  the  great  Colum- 
bia—  the  river  that  brings  the  salmon  that  goes  into  the 
tin  that  is  emptied  into  the  dish  when  the  extra  guest 
arrives  in  India.  California  introduced  me  to  the  boat 
and  the  scenery,  showed  me  the  "  texas,"  the  difference 
between  a  " tow-head"  and  a  "sawyer,"  and  the  precise 
nature  of  a  "slue."  All  I  remember  is  a  delightful 
feeling  that  Mark  Twain's  Huckleberry  Finn  and 
Mississippi  Pilot  were  quite  true,  and  that  I  could 
almost  recognise  the  very  reaches  down  which  Hack 
and  Jim  had  drifted.  We  were  on  the  border  line 
between  Oregon  State  and  Washington  Territory,  but 
that  didn't  matter.  The  Columbia  was  the  Mississippi 
so  far  as  I  was  concerned.  We  ran  along  the  sides  of 
wooded  islands  whose  banks  were  caving  in  with  per- 
petual smashes,  and  we  skipped  from  one  side  to  another 
of  the  mile-wide  stream  in  search  of  a  channel,  exactly 
like  a  Mississippi  steamer,  and  when  we  wanted  to  pick 
up  or  set  down  a  passenger  we  chose  a  soft  and  safe 
place  on  the  shore  and  ran  our  very  snub  nose  against 
it.  California  spoke  to  each  new  passenger  as  he  came 
aboard  and  told  me  the  man's  birthplace.  A  long- 
haired tender  of  kine  crashed  out  of  the  underwood, 
waved  his  hat,  and  was  taken  aboard  forthwith.  "  South 
Carolina,"  said  California,  almost  without  looking  at 
him.  "When  he  talks  you  will  hear  a  softer  dialect 
than  mine."  And  it  befell  as  he  said:  whereat  I  mar- 
velled, and  California  chuckled.  Every  island  in  the 
river  carried  fields  of  rich  wheat,  orchards,  and  a  white, 
wooden  house;  or  else,  if  the  pines  grew  very  thickly, 


28  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

a  sawmill,  the  tremulous  whine  of  whose  saws  flickered 
across  the  water  like  the  drone  of  a  tired  bee.  From 
remarks  he  let  fall  I  gathered  that  California  owned 
timber  ships  and  dealt  in  lumber,  had  ranches  too, 
a  partner,  and  everything  handsome  about  him ;  in 
addition  to  a  chequered  career  of  some  thirty -five  years. 
But  he  looked  almost  as  disreputable  a  loafer  as  I. 

"Say,  young  feller,  we're  going  to  see  scenery  now. 
You  shout  and  sing,"  said  California,  when  the  bland 
wooded  islands  gave  place  to  bolder  outlines,  and  the 
steamer  ran  herself  into  a  hornet's  nest  of  black-fanged 
rocks  not  a  foot  below  the  boiling  broken  water.  We 
were  trying  to  get  up  a  slue,  or  back  channel,  by  a 
short  cut,  and  the  stern-wheel  never  spun  twice  in 
the  same  direction.  Then  we  hit  a  floating  log  with 
a  jar  that  ran  through  our  system,  and  then,  white- 
bellied,  open-gilled,  spun  by  a  dead  salmon  —  a  lordly 
twenty-pound  Chinook  salmon  who  had  perished  in 
his  pride.  "You'll  see  the  salmon-wheels  'fore  long," 
said  a  man  who  lived  "  way  back  on  the  Washoogle," 
and  whose  hat  was  spangled  with  trout-flies.  "Those 
Chinook  salmon  never  rise  to  the  fly.  The  canneries 
take  them  by  the  wheel."  At  the  next  bend  we  sighted 
a  wheel  —  an  infernal  arrangement  of  wire-gauze  com- 
partments worked  by  the  current  and  moved  out  from 
a  barge  in  shore  to  scoop  up  the  salmon  as  he  races  up 
the  river.  California  swore  long  and  fluently  at  the 
sight,  and  the  more  fluently  when  he  was  told  of  the 
weight  of  a  good  night's  catch  —  some  thousands  of 
pounds.  Think  of  the  black  and  bloody  murder  of  it ! 
But  you  out  yonder  insist  in  buying  tinned  salmon,  and 
the  canneries  cannot  live  by  letting  down  lines. 


29 

About  this  time  California  was  struck  Avith  madness. 
I  found  him  dancing  on  the  fore-deck  shouting,  "Isn't 
she  a  daisy  ?  Isn't  she  a  darling  ?  "  He  had  found  a 
waterfall  —  a  blown  thread  of  white  vapour  that  broke 
from  the  crest  of  a  hill  —  a  waterfall  eight  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  high  whose  voice  was  even  louder  than  the 
voice  of  the  river.  "Bridal  Veil,"  jerked  out  the  purser. 
"  D — n  that  purser  and  the  people  who  christened  her ! 
Why  didn't  they  call  her  Mechlin  lace  Falls  at  fifty  dol- 
lars a  yard  while  they  were  at  it  ?  "  said  California.  And 
I  agreed  with  him.  There  are  many  "  bridal  veil "  falls 
in  this  country,  but  few,  men  say,  lovelier  than  those  that 
come  down  to  the  Columbia  Eiver.  Then  the  scenery 
began  —  poured  forth  with  the  reckless  profusion  of  Na- 
ture, who  when  she  wants  to  be  amiable  succeeds  only  in 
being  oppressively  magnificent.  The  river  was  penned 
between  gigantic  stone  walls  crowned  with  the  ruined 
bastions  of  Oriental  palaces.  The  stretch  of  green  water 
widened  and  was  guarded  by  pine-clad  hills  three  thou- 
sand feet  high.  A  wicked  devil's  thumb  nail  of  rock 
shot  up  a  hundred  feet  in  midstream.  A  sand-bar  of 
blinding  white  sand  gave  promise  of  flat  country  that 
the  next  bend  denied ;  for,  lo !  we  were  running  under 
a  triple  tier  of  fortifications,  lava-topped,  pine-clothed, 
and  terrible.  Behind  them  the  white  dome  of  Mount 
Hood  ran  fourteen  thousand  feet  into  the  blue,  and  at 
their  feet  the  river  threshed  among  a  belt  of  cottonwood 
trees.  There  I  sat  down  and  looked  at  California  half 
out  of  the  boat  in  his  anxiety  to  see  both  sides  of  the 
river  at  once.  He  had  seen  my  note-book,  and  it  offended 
him.  "Young  feller,  let  her  go  —  and  you  shut  your 
head.  It's  not  you  nor  anybody  like  you  can  put  this 


30  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

down.  Black,  the  novelist,  he  could.  He  can  describe 
salmon-fishing,  he  can."  And  he  glared  at  me  as  though 
he  expected  me  to  go  and  do  likewise. 
"  I  can't.  I  know  it,"  I  said  humbly. 
"  Then  thank  God  that  you  came  along  this  way." 
We  reached  a  little  railway,  on  an  island,  which  was 
to  convey  us  to  a  second  steamer,  because,  as  the  purser 
explained,  the  river  was  "a  trifle  broken."  We  had  a 
six-mile  run,  sitting  in  the  sunshine  on  a  dummy  wagon, 
whirled  just  along  the  edge  of  the  river-bluffs.  Some- 
times we  dived  into  the  fragrant  pine  woods,  ablaze  with 
flowers;  but  we  generally  watched  the  river  now  nar- 
rowed into  a  turbulent  millrace.  Just  where  the  whole 
body  of  water  broke  in  riot  over  a  series  of  cascades, 
the  United  States  Government  had  chosen  to  build  a 
lock  for  steamers,  and  the  stream  was  one  boiling,  spout- 
ing mob  of  water.  A  log  shot  down  the  race,  struck  on  a 
rock,  split  from  end  to  end,  and  rolled  over  in  white  foam. 
I  shuddered  because  my  toes  were  not  more  than  sixty 
feet  above  the  log,  and  I  feared  that  a  stray  splinter 
might  have  found  me.  But  the  train  ran  into  the  river 
on  a  sort  of  floating  trestle,  and  I  was  upon  another 
steamer  ere  I  fully  understood  why.  The  cascades  were 
not  two  hundred  yards  below  us,  and  when  we  cast  off 
to  go  upstream,  the  rush  of  the  river,  ere  the  wheel 
struck  the  water,  dragged  us  as  though  we  had  been 
towed.  Then  the  country  opened  out,  and  California 
mourned  for  his  lost  bluffs  and  crags,  till  we  struck  a 
rock  wall  four  hundred  feet  high,  crowned  by  the  gigan- 
tic figure  of  a  man  watching  us.  On  a  rocky  island  we 
saw  the  white  tomb  of  an  old-time  settler  who  had 
made  his  money  in  San  Francisco,  but  had  chosen  to  be 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  31 

buried  in  an  Indian  bury  ing-ground.  A  decayed  wooden 
"wickyup,"  where  the  bones  of  the  Indian  dead  are  laid, 
almost  touched  the  tomb.  The  river  ran  into  a  canal  of 
basaltic  rock,  painted  in  yellow,  vermilion,  and  green  by 
Indians  and,  by  inferior  brutes,  adorned  with  advertise- 
ments of  "bile  beans."  We  had  reached  The  Dalles  — 
the  centre  of  a  great  sheep  and  wool  district,  and  the 
head  of  navigation. 

When  an  American  arrives  at  a  new  town  it  is  his 
bounden  duty  to  "take  it  in."  California  swung  his 
coat  over  his  shoulder  with  the  gesture  of  a  man  used 
to  long  tramps,  and  together,  at  eight  in  the  evening,  we 
explored  The  Dalles.  The  sun  had  not  yet  set,  and  it 
would  be  light  for  at  least  another  hour.  All  the  in- 
habitants seemed  to  own  a  little  villa  and  one  church 
apiece.  The  young  men  were  out  walking  with  the  young 
maidens,  the  old  folks  were  sitting  on  the  front  steps,  — 
not  the  ones  that  led  to  the  religiously  shuttered  best 
drawing-room,  but  the  side-front-steps,  —  and  the  hus- 
bands and  wives  were  tying  back  pear  trees  or  gather- 
ing cherries.  A  scent  of  hay  reached  me,  and  in  the 
stillness  we  could  hear  the  cattle  bells  as  the  cows  came 
home  across  the  lava-sprinkled  fields.  California  swung 
down  the  wooden  pavements,  audibly  criticising  the 
housewives'  hollyhocks  and  the  more  perfect  ways  of 
pear-grafting,  and,  as  the  young  men  and  maidens 
passed,  giving  quaint  stories  of  his  youth.  I  felt  that 
I  knew  all  the  people  aforetime,  I  was  so  interested  in 
them  and  their  life.  A  woman  hung  over  a  gate  talking 
to  another  woman,  and  as  I  passed  I  heard  her  say, 
"  skirts,"  and  again,  "  skirts,"  and  "  I'll  send  you  over 
the  pattern  " ;  and  I  knew  they  were  talking  dress.  We 


32  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

stumbled  upon  a  young  couple  saying  good-by  in  the  twi- 
light, and  "  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  "  quoth  he ;  and 
I  understood  that  to  the  doubting  heart  the  tiny  little 
town  we  paraded  in  twenty  minutes  might  be  as  large  as 
all  London  and  as  impassable  as  an  armed  camp.  I  gave 
them  both  my  blessing,  because  "When  shall  I  see  you 
again  ?  "  is  a  question  that  lies  very  near  to  hearts  of 
all  the  world.  The  last  garden  gate  shut  with  a  click 
that  travelled  far  down  the  street,  and  the  lights  of  the 
comfortable  families  began  to  shine  in  the  confidingly 
uncurtained  windows. 

"Say,  Johnny  Bull,  doesn't  all  this  make  you  feel 
lonesome  ?  "  said  California.  "  Have  you  got  any  folks 
at  home  ?  So've  I  —  a  wife  and  five  children  —  and  I'm 
only  on  a  holiday." 

"And  I'm  only  on  a  holiday,"  I  said,  and  we  went 
back  to  the  Spittoon-wood  Hotel.  Alas !  for  the  peace 
and  purity  of  the  little  town  that  I  had  babbled  about. 
At  the  back  of  a  shop,  and  discreetly  curtained,  was  a 
room  where  the  young  men  who  had  been  talking  to 
the  young  maidens  could  play  poker  and  drink  and 
swear,  and  on  the  shop  were  dime  novels  of  bloodshed 
to  corrupt  the  mind  of  the  little  boy,  and  prurient 
servant-girl-slush  yarns  to  poison  the  mind  of  the  girl. 
California  only  laughed  grimly.  He  said  that  all  these 
little  one-house  towns  were  pretty  much  the  same  all 
over  the  States. 

That  night  I  dreamed  I  was  back  in  India  with  no 
place  to  sleep  in  ;  tramping  up  and  down  the  Station  mall 
and  asking  everybody,  "  When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 


No.   XXVII 

SHOWS    HOW   I    CAUGHT   SALMON    IN   THE   CLACKAMAS. 

' '  The  race  is  neither  to  the  swift  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong  ; 
but  time  and  chance  cometh  to  all." 

I  HAVE  lived !  The  American  Continent  may  now 
sink  under  the  sea,  for  I  have  taken  the  best  that  it 
yields,  and  the  best  was  neither  dollars,  love,  nor  real 
estate.  Hear  now,  gentlemen  of  the  Punjab  Fishing 
Club,  who  whip  the  reaches  of  the  Tavi,  and  you  who 
painfully  import  trout  to  Ootacamund,  and  I  will  tell 
you  how  "  old  man  California "  and  I  went  fishing,  and 
you  shall  envy.  We  returned  from  The  Dalles  to  Port- 
land by  the  way  we  had  come,  the  steamer  stopping  en 
route  to  pick  up  a  night's  catch  of  one  of  the  salmon 
wheels  on  the  river,  and  to  deliver  it  at  a  cannery  down- 
stream. When  the  proprietor  of  the  wheel  announced 
that  his  take  was  two  thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty 
pounds'  weight  of  fish,  "  and  not  a  heavy  catch,  neither," 
I  thought  he  lied.  But  he  sent  the  boxes  aboard,  and  I 
counted  the  salmon  by  the  hundred  —  huge  fifty-pound- 
ers, hardly  dead,  scores  of  twenty  and  thirty-pounders, 
and  a  host  of  smaller  fish. 

The  steamer  halted  at  a  rude  wooden  warehouse  built 

on  piles  in  a  lonely  reach  of  the  river,  and  sent  in  the 

fish.     I  followed  them  up  a  scale-strewn,  fishy  incline 

that  led  to  the  cannery.     The  crazy  building  was  quiv- 

VOL.  n  —  D  33 


34  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

ering  with  the  machinery  on  its  floors,  and  a  glittering 
bank  of  tin-scraps  twenty  feet  high  showed  where  the 
waste  was  thrown  after  the  cans  had  been  punched. 
Only  Chinamen  were  employed  on  the  work,  and  they 
looked  like  blood-besmeared  yellow  devils,  as  they 
crossed  the  rifts  of  sunlight  that  lay  upon  the  floor. 
When  our  consignment  arrived,  the  rough  wooden  boxes 
broke  of  themselves  as  they  were  dumped  down  under  a 
jet  of  water,  and  the  salmon  burst  out  in  a  stream  of 
quicksilver.  A  Chinaman  jerked  up  a  twenty-pounder, 
beheaded  and  de-tailed  it  with  two  swift  strokes  of  a 
knife,  flicked  out  its  internal  arrangements  with  a  third, 
and  cast  it  into  a  bloody-dyed  tank.  The  headless  fish 
leaped  from  under  his  hands  as  though  they  were  facing 
a  rapid.  Other  Chinamen  pulled  them  from  the  vat  and 
thrust  them  under  a  thing  like  a  chaff-cutter,  which, 
descending,  hewed  them  into  unseemly  red  gobbets  fit 
for  the  can.  More  Chinamen  with  yellow,  crooked  fin- 
gers, jammed  the  stuff  into  the  cans,  which  slid  down 
some  marvellous  machine  forthwith,  soldering  their  own 
tops  as  they  passed.  Each  can  was  hastily  tested  for 
flaws,  and  then  sunk,  with  a  hundred  companions,  into 
a  vat  of  boiling  water,  there  to  be  half  cooked  for  a  few 
minutes.  The  cans  bulged  slightly  after  the  operation, 
and  were  therefore  slidden  along  by  the  trolleyf ul  to  men 
with  needles  and  soldering  irons,  who  vented  them,  and 
soldered  the  aperture.  Except  for  the  label,  the  "  finest 
Columbia  salmon  "  was  ready  for  the  market.  I  was  im- 
pressed, not  so  much  with  the  speed  of  the  manufacture, 
as  the  character  of  the  factory.  Inside,  on  a  floor  ninety 
by  forty,  the  most  civilised  and  murderous  of  machinery. 
Outside,  three  footsteps,  the  thick-growing  pines  and  the 


FBOM   SEA   TO  SEA  35 

immense  solitude  of  the  hills.  Our  steamer  only  stayed 
twenty  minutes  at  that  place,  but  I  counted  two  hundred 
and  forty  finished  cans,  made  from  the  catch  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  ere  I  left  the  slippery,  blood-stained,  scale- 
spangled,  oily  floors,  and  the  offal-smeared  Chinamen. 

We  reached  Portland,  California  and  I,  crying  for 
salmon,  and  the  real-estate  man,  to  whom  we  had  been  in- 
trusted by  "  Portland  "  the  insurance  man,  met  us  in  the 
street  saying  that  fifteen  miles  away,  across  country,  we 
should  come  upon  a  place  called  Clackanaas  where  we 
might  perchance  find  what  we  desired.  And  California, 
his  coat-tails  flying  in  the  wind,  ran  to  a  livery  stable 
and  chartered  a  wagon  and  team  forthwith.  I  could  push 
the  wagon  about  with  one  hand,  so  light  was  its  structure. 
The  team  was  purely  American  —  that  is  to  say,  almost 
human  in  its  intelligence  and  docility.  Some  one  said 
that  the  roads  were  not  good  on  the  way  to  Clackamas 
and  warned  us  against  smashing  the  springs.  "Port- 
land," who  had  watched  the  preparations,  finally  reck- 
oned "  he'd  come  along  too,"  and  under  heavenly  skies 
we  three  companions  of  a  day  set  forth ;  California  care- 
fully lashing  our  rods  into  the  carriage,  and  the  by- 
standers overwhelming  us  with  directions  as  to  the 
sawmills  we  were  to  pass,  the  ferries  we  were  to  cross, 
and  the  sign-posts  we  were  to  seek  signs  from.  Half  a 
mile  from  this  city  of  fifty  thousand  souls  we  struck  (and 
this  must  be  taken  literally)  a  plank-road  that  would  have 
been  a  disgrace  to  an  Irish  village. 

Then  six  miles  of  macadamised  road  showed  us  that 
the  team  could  move.  A  railway  ran  between  us  and 
the  banks  of  the  Willamette,  and  another  above  us 
through  the  mountains.  All  the  land  was  dotted  with 


36  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

small  townships,  and  the  roads  were  full  of  farmers  in 
their  town  wagons,  bunches  of  tow-haired,  boggle-eyed 
urchins  sitting  in  the  hay  behind.  The  men  generally 
looked  like  loafers,  but  their  women  were  all  well 
dressed.  Brown  hussar-braiding  on  a  tailor-made  jacket 
does  not,  however,  consort  with  hay-wagons.  Then  we 
struck  into  the  woods  along  what  California  called  a 
"  camina  reale,"  —  a  good  road,  —  and  Portland  a  "fail- 
track."  It  wound  in  and  oiit  among  fire-blackened 
stumps,  under  pine  trees,  along  the  corners  of  log-fences, 
through  hollows  which  must  be  hopeless  marsh  in  the 
winter,  and  up  absurd  gradients.  But  nowhere  through- 
out its  length  did  I  see  any  evidence  of  road-making. 
There  was  a  track,  — you  couldn't  well  get  off  it,  —  and  it 
was  all  you  could  do  to  stay  on  it.  The  dust  lay  a  foot 
thick  in  the  blind  ruts,  and  under  the  dust  we  found  bits 
of  planking  and  bundles  of  brushwood  that  sent  the  wagon 
bounding  into  the  air.  Sometimes  we  crashed  through 
bracken;  anon  where  the  blackberries  grew  rankest  we 
found  a  lonely  little  cemetery,  the  wooden  rails  all  awry, 
and  the  pitiful  stumpy  headstones  nodding  drunkenly  at 
the  soft  green  mulleins.  Then  with  oaths  and  the  sound 
of  rent  underwood  a  yoke  of  mighty  bulls  would  swing 
down  a  "  skid "  road,  hauling  a  forty-foot  log  along  a 
rudely  made  slide.  A  valley  full  of  wheat  and  cherry 
trees  succeeded,  and  halting  at  a  house  we  bought  ten 
pound  weight  of  luscious  black  cherries  for  something  less 
than  a  rupee  and  got  a  drink  of  icy -cold  water  for  noth- 
ing, while  the  untended  team  browsed  sagaciously  by  the 
roadside.  Once  we  found  a  wayside  camp  of  horse- 
dealers  lounging  by  a  pool,  ready  for  a  sale  or  a  swap, 
and  once  two  sun-tanned  youngsters  shot  down  a  hill  on 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  37 

Indian  ponies,  their  full  creels  banging  from  the  high- 
pommelled  saddles.  They  had  been  fishing,  and  were  our 
brethren  therefore.  We  shouted  aloud  in  chorus  to 
scare  a  wild-cat ;  we  squabbled  over  the  reasons  that 
had  led  a  snake  to  cross  a  road ;  we  heaved  bits  of  bark 
at  a  venturesome  chipmunk,  who  was  really  the  little 
grey  squirrel  of  India  and  had  come  to  call  on  me ;  we 
lost  our  way  and  got  the  wagon  so  beautifully  fixed  on  a 
steep  road  that  we  had  to  tie  the  two  hind-wheels  to 
get  it  down.  Above  all,  California  told  tales  of  Nevada 
and  Arizona,  of  lonely  nights  spent  out  prospecting,  of 
the  slaughter  of  deer  and  the  chase  of  men ;  of  woman, 
lovely  woman,  who  is  a  firebrand  in  a  Western  city,  and 
leads  to  the  popping  of  pistols,  and  of  the  sudden 
changes  and  chances  of  Fortune,  who  delights  in  making 
the  miner  or  the  lumberman  a  quadruplicate  millionnaire, 
and  in  "  busting  "  the  railroad  king.  That  was  a  day  to 
be  remembered,  and  it  had  only  begun  when  we  drew 
rein  at  a  tiny  farmhouse  on  the  banks  of  the  Clackamas 
and  sought  horse-feed  and  lodging  ere  we  hastened  to  the 
river  that  broke  over  a  weir  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

Imagine  a  stream  seventy  yards  broad  divided  by  a 
pebbly  island,  running  over  seductive  riffles,  and  swirling 
into  deep,  quiet  pools  where  the  good  salmon  goes  to 
smoke  his  pipe  after  meals.  Set  such  a  stream  amid 
fields  of  breast-high  crops  surrounded  by  hills  of  pines, 
throw  in  where  you  please  quiet  water,  log-fenced  mead- 
ows, and  a  hundred-foot  bluff  just  to  keep  the  scenery 
from  growing  too  monotonous,  and  you  will  get  some 
faint  notion  of  the  Clackamas. 

Portland  had  no  rod.  He  held  the  gaff  and  the 
whisky.  California  sniffed  upstream  and  downstream 


38  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

across  the  racing  water,  chose  his  ground,  and  let  the 
gaudy  spoon  drop  in  the  tail  of  a  riffle.  I  was  getting  my 
rod  together  when  I  heard  the  joyous  shriek  of  the  reel 
and  the  yells  of  California,  and  three  feet  of  living  silver 
leaped  into  the  air  far  across  the  water.  The  forces  were 
engaged.  The  salmon  tore  up  stream,  the  tense  line  cut- 
ting the  water  like  a  tide-rip  behind  him,  and  the  light 
bamboo  bowed  to  breaking.  What  happened  after  I 
cannot  tell.  California  swore  and  prayed,  and  Portland 
shouted  advice,  and  I  did  all  three  for  what  appeared  to 
be  half  a  day,  but  was  in  reality  a  little  over  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  and  sullenly  our  fish  came  home  with  spurts  of 
temper,  dashes  head-on,  and  sarabands  in  the  air;  but 
home  to  the  bank  came  he,  and  the  remorseless  reel  gath- 
ered up  the  thread  of  his  life  inch  by  inch.  We  landed 
him  in  a  little  bay,  and  the  spring-weight  checked  at 
eleven  and  a  half  pounds.  Eleven  and  one-half  pounds 
of  fighting  salmon !  We  danced  a  war  dance  on  the  peb- 
bles, and  California  caught  me  round  the  waist  in  a  hug 
that  went  near  to  breaking  my  ribs  while  he  shouted : 
"  Partner !  Partner !  This  is  glory !  Now  you  catch 
your  fish  !  Twenty-four  years  I've  waited  for  this  !  " 

I  went  into  that  icy-cold  river  and  made  my  cast  just 
above  a  weir,  and  all  but  foul-hooked  a  blue  and  black 
water-snake  with  a  coral  mouth  who  coiled  herself  on  a 
stone  and  hissed  maledictions.  The  next  cast  —  ah,  the 
pride  of  it,  the  regal  splendour  of  it !  the  thrill  that  ran 
down  from  finger-tip  to  toe !  The  water  boiled.  He 
broke  for  the  fly  and  got  it !  There  remained  enough 
sense  in  me  to  give  him  all  he  wanted  when  he  jumped 
not  once  but  twenty  times  before  the  upstream  flight 
that  ran  my  line  out  to  the  last  half-dozen  turns,  and  I 


39 

saw  the  nickled  reel-bar  glitter  under  the  thinning  green 
coils.  My  thumb  was  burned  deep  when  I  strove  to 
stopper  the  line,  but  I  did  not  feel  it  till  later,  for  my 
soul  was  out  in  the  dancing  water  praying  for  him  to 
turn  ere  he  took  my  tackle  away.  The  prayer  was 
heard.  As  I  bowed  back,  the  butt  of  the  rod  on  my  left 
hip-bone  and  the  top  joint  dipping  like  unto  a  weeping 
willow,  he  turned,  and  I  accepted  each  inch  of  slack  that 
I  could  by  any  means  get  in  as  a  favour  from  on  High. 
There  be  several  sorts  of  success  in  this  world  that  taste 
well  in  the  moment  of  enjoyment,  but  I  question  whether 
the  stealthy  theft  of  line  from  an  able-bodied  salmon  who 
knows  exactly  what  you  are  doing  and  why  you  are  doing 
it  is  not  sweeter  than  any  other  victory  within  human 
scope.  Like  California's  fish,  he  ran  at  me  head-on  and 
leaped  against  the  line,  but  the  Lord  gave  me  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pairs  of  fingers  in  that  hour.  The  banks 
and  the  pine  trees  danced  dizzily  round  me,  but  I  only 
reeled  —  reeled  as  for  life  —  reeled  for  hours,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  reeling  continued  to  give  him  the  butt  while 
he  sulked  in  a  pool.  California  was  farther  up  the  reach, 
and  with  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  could  see  him  casting 
with  long  casts  and  much  skill.  Then  he  struck,  and  my 
fish  broke  for  the  weir  in  the  same  instant,  and  down  the 
reach  we  came,  California  and  I ;  reel  answering  reel  even 
as  the  morning  stars  sung  together. 

The  first  wild  enthusiasm  of  capture  had  died  away. 
We  were  both  at  work  now  in  deadly  earnest  to  prevent 
the  lines  fouling,  to  stall  off  a  downstream  rush  for 
deep  water  just  above  the  weir,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  get  the  fish  into  the  shallow  bay  downstream  that  gave 
the  best  practicable  landing.  Portland  bade  us  both  be 


40  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

of  good  heart,  and  volunteered  to  take  the  rod  from  my 
hands.  I  would  rather  have  died  among  the  pebbles 
than  surrender  my  right  to  play  and  land  my  first 
salmon,  weight  unknown,  on  an  eight-ounce  rod.  I 
heard  California,  at  my  ear  it  seemed,  gasping :  "  He's 
a  fighter  from  Fightersville  sure ! "  as  his  fish  made  a 
fresh  break  across  the  stream.  I  saw  Portland  fall  off 
a  log  fence,  break  the  overhanging  bank,  and  clatter 
down  to  the  pebbles,  all  sand  and  landing-net,  and  I 
dropped  on  a  log  to  rest  for  a  moment.  As  I  drew 
breath  the  weary  hands  slackened  their  hold,  and  I 
forgot  to  give  him  the  butt.  A  wild  scutter  in  the 
water,  a  plunge  and  a  break  for  the  head-waters  of  the 
Clackamas  was  my  reward,  and  the  hot  toil  of  reeling- 
in  with  one  eye  under  the  water  and  the  other  on  the  top 
joint  of  the  rod,  was  renewed.  Worst  of  all,  I  was  block- 
ing California's  path  to  the  little  landing-bay  aforesaid, 
and  he  had  to  halt  and  tire  his  prize  where  he  was. 
"  The  Father  of  all  Salmon ! "  he  shouted.  "  For  the 
love  of  Heaven,  get  your  trout  to  bank,  Johnny  Bull." 
But  I  could  no  more.  Even  the  insult  failed  to  move 
me.  The  rest  of  the  game  was  with  the  salmon.  He 
suffered  himself  to  be  drawn,  skipping  with  pretended 
delight  at  getting  to  the  haven  where  I  would  fain 
have  him.  Yet  no  sooner  did  he  feel  shoal  water 
under  his  ponderous  belly  than  he  backed  like  a  tor- 
pedo-boat, and  the  snarl  of  the  reel  told  me  that  my 
labour  was  in  vain.  A  dozen  times  at  least  this  happened 
ere  the  line  hinted  he  had  given  up  that  battle  and  would 
be  towed  in.  He  was  towed.  The  landing-net  was  use- 
less for  one  of  his  size,  and  I  would  not  have  him  gaffed. 
I  stepped  into  the  shallows  and  heaved  him  out  with  a 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  41 

respectful  hand  under  the  gill,  for  which  kindness  he 
battered  me  about  the  legs  with  his  tail,  and  I  felt  the 
strength  of  him  and  was  proud.  California  had  taken 
my  place  in  the  shallows,  his  fish  hard  held.  I  was  up 
the  bank  lying  full  length  on  the  sweet-scented  grass,  and 
gasping  in  company  with  my  first  salmon  caught,  played 
and  landed  on  an  eight-ounce  rod.  My  hands  were  cut 
and  bleeding.  I  was  dripping  with  sweat,  spangled  like 
harlequin  with  scales,  wet  from  the  waist  down,  iiose- 
peeled  by  the  sun,  but  utterly,  supremely,  and  consum- 
mately happy.  He,  the  beauty,  the  darling,  the  daisy,  my 
Salmon  Bahadur,  weighed  twelve  pounds,  and  I  had  been 
seven  and  thirty  minutes  bringing  him  to  bank !  He  had 
been  lightly  hooked  on  the  angle  of  the  right  jaw,  and 
the  hook  had  not  wearied  him.  That  hour  I  sat  among 
princes  and  crowned  heads  —  greater  than  them  all.  Be- 
low the  bank  we  heard  California  scuffling  with  his 
salmon,  and  swearing  Spanish  oaths.  Portland  and  I 
assisted  at  the  capture,  and  the  fish  dragged  the  spring- 
balance  out  by  the  roots.  It  was  only  constructed  to 
weigh  up  to  fifteen  pounds.  We  stretched  the  three  fish 
on  the  grass,  —  the  eleven  and  a  half,  the  twelve,  and  fif- 
teen pounder, —  and  we  swore  an  oath  that  all  who  came 
after  should  merely  be  weighed  and  put  back  again. 

How  shall  I  tell  the  glories  of  that  day  so  that  you 
may  be  interested  ?  Again  and  again  did  California  and 
I  prance  down  that  reach  to  the  little  bay,  each  with  a 
salmon  in  tow,  and  land  him  in  the  shallows.  Then 
Portland  took  my  rod,  and  caught  some  ten-pounders, 
and  my  spoon  was  carried  away  by  an  unknown  levia- 
than. Each  fish,  for  the  merits  of  the  three  that  had 
died  so  gamely,  was  hastily  hooked  on  the  balance  and 


42  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

flung  back,  Portland  recording  the  weight  in  a  pocket- 
book,  for  he  was  a  real-estate  man.  Each  fish  fought 
for  all  he  was  worth,  and  none  more  savagely  than  the 
smallest  —  a  game  little  six-pounder.  At  the  end  of  six 
hours  we  added  up  the  list.  Total :  16  fish,  aggregate 
weight  142  Ibs.  The  score  in  detail  runs  something 
like  this  —  it  is  only  interesting  to  those  concerned :  16, 
11£,  12,  10,  9f ,  8,  and  so  forth ;  as  I  have  said,  nothing 
under  six  pounds,  and  three  ten-pounders. 

Very  solemnly  and  thankfully  we  put  up  our  rods — it 
was  glory  enough  for  all  time  —  and  returned  weeping  in 
each  other's  arms  —  weeping  tears  of  pure  joy  —  to  that 
simple  bare-legged  family  in  the  packing-case  house  by 
the  waterside.  The  old  farmer  recollected  days  and 
nights  of  fierce  warfare  with  the  Indians  —  "  way  back 
in  the  Fifties,"  when  every  ripple  of  the  Columbia  River 
and  her  tributaries  hid  covert  danger.  God  had  dowered 
him  with  a  queer  crooked  gift  of  expression,  and  a  fierce 
anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  his  two  little  sons  —  tanned 
and  reserved  children  who  attended  school  daily,  and 
spoke  good  English  in  a  strange  tongue.  His  wife  was 
an  austere  woman  who  had  once  been  kindly  and  per- 
haps handsome.  Many  years  of  toil  had  taken  the 
elasticity  out  of  step  and  voice.  She  looked  for  noth- 
ing better  than  everlasting  work  —  the  chafing  detail  of 
housework,  and  then  a  grave  somewhere  up  the  hill 
among  the  blackberries  and  the  pines.  But  in  her  grim 
way  she  sympathised  with  her  eldest  daughter,  a  small 
and  silent  maiden  of  eighteen,  who  had  thoughts  very 
far  from  the  meals  she  tended  or  the  .pans  she  scoured. 
We  stumbled  into  the  household  at  a  crisis ;  and  there 
was  a  deal  of  downright  humanity  in  that  same.  A  bad, 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  43 

wicked  dressmaker  had  promised  the  maiden  a  dress  in 
time  for  a  to-morrow's  railway  journey,  and,  though  the 
barefooted  Georgie,  who  stood  in  very  wholesome  awe  of 
his  sister,  had  scoured  the  woods  on  a  pony  in  search, 
that  dress  never  arrived.  So  with  sorrow  in  her  heart, 
and  a  hundred  Sister  Anne  glances  up  the  road,  she 
waited  upon  the  strangers,  and,  I  doubt  not,  cursed  them 
for  the  wants  that  stood  between  her  and  her  need  for 
tears.  It  was  a  genuine  little  tragedy.  The  mother  in 
a  heavy,  passionless  voice  rebuked  her  impatience,  yet 
sat  bowed  over  a  heap  of  sewing  for  the  daughter's 
benefit.  These  things  I  beheld  in  the  long  marigold- 
scented  twilight  and  whispering  night,  loafing  round  the 
little  house  with  California,  who  unfolded  himself  like  a 
lotus  to  the  moon ;  or  in  the  little  boarded  bunk  that  was 
our  bedroom,  swapping  tales  with  Portland  and  the  old 
man.  Most  of  the  yarns  began  in  this  way :  "Ked  Larry 
was  a  bull-puncher  back  of  Lone  County,  Montanna,"  or 
"There  was  a  man  riding  the  trail  met  a  jack-rabbit 
sitting  in  a  cactus,"  or  "'Bout  the  time  of  the  San  Diego 
land  boom,  a  woman  from  Monterey,"  etc.  You  can  try 
to  piece  out  for  yourselves  what  sort  of  stories  they  were. 

And  next  day  California  tucked  me  under  his  wing 
and  told  me  we  were  going  to  see  a  city  smitten  by  a 
boom,  and  catch  trout.  So  we  took  a  train  and  killed  a 
cow — she  wouldn't  get  out  of  the  way,  and  the  locomo- 
tive "  chanced  "  her  and  slew  —  and  crossing  into  Wash- 
ington Territory  won  the  town  of  Tacoma,  which  stands 
at  the  head  of  Puget .  Sound  upon  the  road  to  Alaska 
and  Vancouver. 

California  was  right.  Tacoma  was  literally  staggering 
under  a  boom  of  the  boomiest.  I  do  not  quite  remember 


44  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

what  her  natural  resources  were  supposed  to  be,  though 
every  second  man  shrieked  a  selection  in  my  ear.  They 
included  coal  and  iron,  carrots,  potatoes,  lumber,  ship- 
ping, and  a  crop  of  thin  newspapers  all  telling  Port- 
land that  her  days  were  numbered.  California  and  I 
struck  the  place  at  twilight.  The  rude  boarded  pave- 
ments of  the  main  streets  rumbled  under  the  heels  of 
hundreds  of  furious  men  all  actively  engaged  in  hunting 
drinks  and  eligible  corner-lots.  They  sought  the  drinks 
first.  The  street  itself  alternated  five-storey  business 
blocks  of  the  later  and  more  abominable  forms  of 
architecture  with  board  shanties.  Overhead  the  drunken 
telegraph,  telephone,  and  electric-light  wires  tangled 
on  the  tottering  posts  whose  butts  were  half-whittled 
through  by  the  knife  of  the  loafer.  Down  the  muddy, 
grimy,  unnietalled  thoroughfare  ran  a  horse-car  line  — 
the  metals  three  inches  above  road  level.  Beyond  this 
street  rose  many  hills,  and  the  town  was  thrown  like  a 
broken  set  of  dominoes  over  all.  A  steam  tramway  — 
it  left  the  track  the  only  time  I  used  it  —  was  nosing 
about  the  hills,  but  the  most  prominent  features  of  the 
landscape  were  the  foundations  in  brick  and  stone  of  a 
gigantic  opera  house  and  the  blackened  stumps  of  the 
pines.  California  sized  up  the  town  with  one  compre- 
hensive glance.  "  Big  boom,"  said  he ;  and  a  few 
instants  later :  "  About  time  to  step  off,  /  think,"  mean- 
ing thereby  that  the  boom  had  risen  to  its  limit,  and 
it  would  be  expedient  not  to  meddle  with  it.  We 
passed  down  ungraded  streets  that  ended  abruptly  in  a 
fifteen-foot  drop  and  a  nest  of  brambles ;  along  pavements 
that  beginning  in  pine-plank  ended  in  the  living  tree; 
by  hotels  with  Turkish  mosque  trinketry  on  their  shame- 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  45 

less  tops,  and  the  pine  stumps  at  their  very  doors ;  by  a 
female  seminary,  tall,  gaunt  and  red,  which  a  native  of 
the  town  bade  us  marvel  at,  and  we  marvelled ;  by  houses 
built  in  imitation  of  the  ones  on  Nob  Hill,  San  Francisco, 
— after  the  Dutch  fashion ;  by  other  houses  plenteously 
befouled  with  jig-saw  work,  and  others  flaring  with  the 
castlemented,  battlemented  bosh  of  the  wooden  Gothic 
school. 

"You  can  tell  just  about  when  those  fellers  had  theii 
houses  built,"  quoth  California.  "That  one  yonder 
wanted  to  be  Jtalian,  and  his  architect  built  him  what 
he  wanted.  The  new  houses  with  the  low  straddle  roofs 
and  windows  pitched  in  sideways  and  red  brick  walls 
are  Dutch.  That's  the  latest  idea.  I  can  read  the  his- 
tory of  the  town."  I  had  no  occasion  so  to  read.  The 
natives  were  only  too  glad  and  too  proud  to  tell  me. 
The  hotel  walls  bore  a  flaming  panorama  of  Tacoma  in 
which  by  the  eye  of  faith  I  saw  a  faint  resemblance 
to  the  real  town.  The  hotel  stationary  advertised  that 
Tacoma  bore  on  its  face  all  the  advantages  of  the  highest 
civilisation,  and  the  newspapers  sang  the  same  tune  in 
a  louder  key.  The  real-estate  agents  were  selling  house- 
lots  on  unmade  streets  miles  away  for  thousands  of  dol- 
lars. On  the  streets  —  the  rude,  crude  streets,  where  the 
unshaded  electric  light  was  fighting  with  the  gentle 
northern  twilight  —  men  were  babbling  of  money,  town 
lots,  and  again  money  —  how  Alf  or  Ed  had  done  such 
and  such  a  thing  that  had  brought  him  so  much  money ; 
and  round  the  corner  in  a  creaking  boarded  hall  the 
red-jersey ed  Salvationists  were  calling  upon  mankind  to 
renounce  all  and  follow  their  noisy  God.  The  men 
dropped  in  by  twos  and  threes,  listened  silently  for 


46 

a  while,  and  as  silently  went  their  way,  the  cymbals 
clashing  after  them  in  vain.  I  think  it  was  the  raw, 
new  smell  of  fresh  sawdust  everywhere  pervading  the 
air  that  threw  upon  me  a  desolating  homesickness.  It 
brought  back  in  a  moment  all  remembrances  of  that 
terrible  first  night  at  school  when  the  establishment  has 
been  newly  whitewashed,  and  a  soft  smell  of  escaping 
gas  mingles  with  the  odour  of  trunks  and  wet  overcoats. 
I  was  a  little  boy,  and  the  school  was  very  new.  A 
vagabond  among  collarless  vagabonds,  I  loafed  up  the 
street,  looking  into  the  fronts  of  little  shops  where  they 
sold  slop  shirts  at  fancy  prices,  which  shops  I  saw  later 
described  in  the  papers  as  "  great."  California  had  gone 
off  to  investigate  on  his  own  account,  and  presently  re- 
turned, laughing  noiselessly.  "  They  are  all  mad  here," 
he  said,  "all  mad.  A  man  nearly  pulled  a  gun  on  me 
because  I  didn't  agree  with  him  that  Tacoma  was  going 
to  whip  San  Francisco  on  the  strength  of  carrots  and 
potatoes.  I  asked  him  to  tell  me  what  the  town  pro- 
duced, and  I  couldn't  get  anything  out  of  him  except 
those  two  darned  vegetables.  Say,  what  do  you  think." 

I  responded  firmly,  "  I'm  going  into  British  territory 
a  little  while  —  to  draw  breath." 

"  I'm  going  up  the  Sound,  too,  for  a  while,"  said  he, 
"  but  I'm  coming  back  —  coming  back  to  our  salmon  on 
the  Clackamas.  A  man  has  been  pressing  me  to  buy 
real  estate  here.  Young  feller,  don't  you  buy  real  estate 
here." 

California  disappeared  with  a  kindly  wave  of  his 
overcoat  into  worlds  other  than  mine,  —  good  luck  go 
with  him  for  he  was  a  true  sportsman! — and  I  took  a 
steamer  up  Puget  Sound  for  Vancouver,  which  is  the 


EROM   SEA  TO   SEA  47 

terminus  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway.  That  was  a 
queer  voyage.  The  water,  landlocked  among  a  thousand 
islands,  lay  still  as  oil  under  our  bows,  and  the  wake  of 
the  screw  broke  up  the  unquivering  reflections  of  pines 
and  cliffs  a  mile  away.  'Twas  as  though  we  were 
trampling  on  glass.  No  one,  not  even  the  Government, 
knows  the  number  of  islands  in  the  Sound.  Even  now 
you  can  get  one  almost  for  the  asking;  can  build  a 
house,  raise  sheep,  catch  salmon,  and  become  a  king  on 
a  small  scale — your  subjects  the  Indians  of  the  reserva- 
tion, who  glide  among  the  islets  in  their  canoes  and 
scratch  their  hides  monkeywise  by  the  beach.  A  Sound 
Indian  is  unlovely  and  only  by  accident  picturesque. 
His  wife  drives  the  canoe,  but  he  himself  is  so  thorough 
a  mariner  that  he  can  spring  up  in  his  cockle-craft  and 
whack  his  wife  over  the  head  with  a  paddle  without 
tipping  the  whole  affair  into  the  water.  This  I  have 
seen  him  do  unprovoked.  I  fancy  it  must  have  been  to 
show  off  before  the  whites. 

Have  I  told  you  anything  about  Seattle  —  the  town 
that  was  burned  out  a  few  weeks  ago  when  the  insurance 
men  at  San  Francisco  took  their  losses  with  a  grin  ?  In 
the  ghostly  twilight,  just  as  the  forest  fires  were  begin- 
ning to  glare  from  the  unthrifty  islands,  we  struck  it  — 
struck  it  heavily,  for  the  wharves  had  all  been  burned 
down,  and  we  tied  up  where  we  could,  crashing  into  the 
rotten  foundations  of  a  boathouse  as  a  pig  roots  in  high 
grass.  The  town,  like  Tacoma,  was  built  upon  a  hill. 
In  the  heart  of  the  business  quarters  there  was  a  horrible 
black  smudge,  as  though  a  Hand  had  come  down  and 
rubbed  the  place  smooth.  I  know  now  what  being  wiped 
out  means.  The  smudge  seemed  to  be  about  a  mile  long, 


48  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  its  blackness  was  relieved  by  tents  in  which  men 
were  doing  business  with  the  wreck  of  the  stock  they 
had  saved.  There  were  shouts  and  counter-shouts  from 
the  steamer  to  the  temporary  wharf,  which  was  laden 
with  shingles  for  roofing,  chairs,  trunks,  provision-boxes, 
and  all  the  lath  and  string  arrangements  out  of  which 
a  western  town  is  made.  This  is  the  way  the  shouts 
ran:  — 

"  Oh,  George !     What's  the  best  with  you  ?  " 

"  Nawthin'.  Got  the  old  safe  out.  She's  burned  to  a 
crisp.  Books  all  gone." 

" '  Save  anythin'  ?  " 

"  Bar'l  o'  crackers  and  my  wife's  bonnet.  Goin'  to  start 
store  on  them  though." 

"  Bully  for  you.  Where's  that  Emporium  ?  I'll 
drop  in." 

"Corner  what  used  to  be  Fourth  and  Main  —  little 
brown  tent  close  to  militia  picquet.  Sa-ay !  We're 
under  martial  law,  an'  all  the  saloons  are  shut  down." 

"  Best  for  you,  George.  Some  men  gets  crazy  with  a 
fire,  an'  liquor  makes  'em  crazier." 

"'Spect  any  creator-condemned  son  of  a  female  dog 
who  has  lost  all  his  fixin's  in  a  conflagration  is  going  to 
put  ice  on  his  head  an'  run  for  Congress,  do  you? 
How'd  you  like  us  act?" 

The  Job's  comforter  on  the  steamer  retired  into  him- 
self. 

"  Oh  George  "  dived  into  the  bar  for  a  drink. 

P.  S.  —  Among  many  curiosities  I  have  unearthed  one. 
It  was  a  Face  on  the  steamer  —  a  face  above  a  pointed 
straw-coloured  beard,  a  face  with  thin  lips  and  eloquent 
eyes.  We  conversed,  and  presently  I  got  at  the  ideas  of 


FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA  49 

the  Face.  It  was,  though  it  lived  for  nine  months  of 
the  year  in  the  wilds  of  Alaska  and  British  Columbia, 
an  authority  on  the  canon  law  of  the  Church  of  England 
—  a  zealous  and  bitter  upholder  of  the  supremacy  of  the 
aforesaid  Church.  Into  my  amazed  ears,  as  the  steamer 
plodded  through  the  reflections  of  the  stars,  it  poured 
the  battle-cry  of  the  Church  Militant  here  on  earth,  and 
put  forward  as  a  foul  injustice  that  in  the  prisons  of 
British  Columbia  the  Protestant  chaplain  did  not  always 
belong  to  the  Church.  The  Face  had  no  official  connec- 
tion with  the  august  body,  and  by  force  of  his  life  very 
seldom  attended  service. 

"  But,"  said  he,  proudly,  "  I  should  think  it  direct  diso- 
bedience to  the  orders  of  my  Church  if  I  attended  any 
other  places  of  worship  than  those  prescribed.  I  was 
once  for  three  months  in  a  place  where  there  was  only 
a  Wesleyan  Methodist  chapel,  and  I  never  set  foot  in 
it  once,  Sir.  Never  once.  'Twould  have  been  heresy. 
Bank  heresy." 

And  as  I  leaned  over  the  rail  methought  that  all 
the  little  stars  in  the  water  were  shaking  with  austere 
merriment!  But  it  may  have  been  only  the  ripple  of 
the  steamer,  after  all. 

VOL.  II  —  E 


No.  XXVIII 

TAKES     ME     FROM     VANCOUVER     TO     THE      YELLOWSTONE 
NATIONAL    PARK. 

"  But  who  shall  chronicle  the  ways 
Of  common  folk,  the  nights  and  days 
Spent  with  rough  goatherds  on  the  snows, 
And  travellers  come  whence  no  man  knows  ?  " 

THIS  day  I  know  how  a  deserter  feels.  Here  in  Vic- 
toria, a  hundred  and  forty  miles  out  of  America,  the  mail 
brings  me  news  from  our  Home  —  the  land  of  regrets.  I 
was  enjoying  myself  by  the  side  of  a  trout-stream,  and 
I  feel  inclined  to  apologise  for  every  rejoicing  breath  I 
drew  in  the  diamond  clear  air.  The  sickness,  they  said, 
is  heavy  with  you ;  from  Rewari  to  the  south  good  men 
are  dying.  Two  names  come  in  by  the  mail  of  two 
strong  men  dead  —  men  that  I  dined  and  jested  with 
only  a  little  time  ago,  and  it  seems  unfair  that  I  should 
be  here,  cut  off  from  the  chain-gang  and  the  shot-drill 
of  our  weary  life.  After  all,  there  is  no  life  like  it 
that  we  lead  over  yonder.  Americans  are  Americans, 
and  there  are  millions  of  them;  English  are  English; 
but  we  of  India  are  Us  all  the  world  over,  knowing  the 
mysteries  of  each  other's  lives  and  sorrowing  for  the 
death  of  a  brother.  How  can  I  sit  down  and  write  to 
you  of  the  mere  joy  of  being  alive  ?  The  news  has 
killed  the  pleasure  of  the  day  for  me,  and  I  am  ashamed 

50 


FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA  51 

of  myself.  There  are  seventy  brook  trout  lying  in  a 
creel,  fresh  drawn  from  Harrison  Hot  Springs,  and  they 
do  not  console  me.  They  are  like  the  stolen  apples  that 
clinch  the  fact  of  a  bad  boy's  playing  truant.  I  would 
sell  them  all,  with  my  heritage  in  the  woods  and  air  and 
the  delight  of  meeting  new  and  strange  people,  just  to 
be  back  again  in  the  old  galling  harness,  the  heat  and  the 
dust,  the  gatherings  in  the  evenings  by  the  flooded  tennis- 
courts,  the  ghastly  dull  dinners  at  the  Club  when  the  very 
last  woman  has  been  packed  off  to  the  hills  and  the  four 
or  five  surviving  men  ask  the  doctor  the  symptoms  of 
incubating  smallpox.  I  should  be  troubled  in  body, 
but  at  peace  in  the  soul.  0  excellent  and  toil-worn 
public  of  mine  —  men  of  the  brotherhood,  griffins  new 
joined  from  the  February  troopers,  and  gentlemen  wait- 
ing for  your  off-reckonings  —  take  care  of  yourselves  and 
keep  well !  It  hurts  so  when  any  die.  There  are  so  few 
of  Us,  and  we  know  one  another  too  intimately. 


Vancouver  three  years  ago  was  swept  off  by  fire  in 
sixteen  minutes,  and  only  one  house  was  left  standing. 
To-day  it  has  a  population  of  fourteen  thousand  people, 
and  builds  its  houses  out  of  brick  with  dressed  granite 
fronts.  But  a  great  sleepiness  lies  on  Vancouver  as 
compared  with  an  American  town:  men  don't  fly  up 
and  down  the  streets  telling  lies,  and  the  spittoons  in 
the  delightfully  comfortable  hotel  are  unused;  the  baths 
are  free  and  their  doors  are  unlocked.  You  do  not  have 
to  dig  up  the  hotel  clerk  when  you  want  to  bathe,  which 
shows  the  inferiority  of  Vancouver.  An  American  bade 
me  notice  the  absence  of  bustle,  and  was  alarmed  when  in 


52  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

a  loud  and  audible  voice  I  thanked  God  for  it.  "  Give 
me  granite  —  hewn  granite  and  peace,"  quoth  I,  "and 
keep  your  deal  boards  and  bustle  for  yourselves." 

The  Canadian  Pacific  terminus  is  not  a  very  gorgeous 
place  as  yet,  but  you  can  be  shot  directly  from  the  window 
of  the  train  into  the  liner  that  will  take  you  in  fourteen 
days  from  Vancouver  to  Yokohama.  The  Parthia,  of 
some  five  thousand  tons,  was  at  her  berth  when  I  came, 
and  the  sight  of  the  ex-Cunard  on  what  seemed  to  be  a 
little  lake  was  curious.  Except  for  certain  currents  which 
are  not  much  mentioned,  but  which  make  the  entrance 
rather  unpleasant  for  sailing-boats,  Vancouver  possesses 
an  almost  perfect  harbour.  The  town  is  built  all  round 
and  about  the  harbour,  and  young  as  it  is,  its  streets  are 
better  than  those  of  western  America.  Moreover,  the 
old  flag  waves  over  some  of  the  buildings,  and  this  is 
cheering  to  the  soul.  The  place  is  full  of  English- 
men who  speak  the  English  tongue  correctly  and  with 
clearness,  avoiding  more  blasphemy  than  is  necessary, 
and  taking  a  respectable  length  of  time  to  getting 
outside  their  drinks.  These  advantages  and  others  that 
I  have  heard  about,  such  as  the  construction  of  elaborate 
workshops  and  the  like  by  the  Canadian  Pacific  in  the 
near  future,  moved  me  to  invest  in  real  estate.  He  that 
sold  it  me  was  a  delightful  English  Boy  who,  having  tried 
for  the  Army  and  failed,  had  somehow  meandered  into 
a  real-estate  office,  where  he  was  doing  well.  I  couldn't 
have  bought  it  from  an  American.  He  would  have  over- 
stated the  case  and  proved  me  the  possessor  of  the  origi- 
nal Eden.  All  the  Boy  said  was :  "  I  give  you  my  word 
it  isn't  on  a  cliff  or  under  water,  and  before  long  the 
town  ought  to  move  out  that  way.  I'd  advise  you  to 


FEOM   SEA   TO   SEA  53 

take  it."  And  I  took  it  as  easily  as  a  man  buys  a 
piece  of  tobacco.  Me  void,  owner  of  some  four  hun- 
dred well-developed  pines,  a  few  thousand  tons  of  granite 
scattered  in  blocks  at  the  roots  of  the  pines,  and  a  sprin- 
kling of  earth.  That's  a  town-lot  in  Vancouver.  You  or 
your  agent  hold  to  it  till  property  rises,  then  sell  out  and 
buy  more  land  further  out  of  town  and  repeat  the  process. 
I  do  not  quite  see  how  this  sort  of  thing  helps  the  growth 
of  a  town,  but  the  English  Boy  says  that  it  is  the  ''essence 
of  speculation,"  so  it  must  be  all  right.  But  I  wish  there 
were  fewer  pines  and  rather  less  granite  on  my  ground. 
Moved  by  curiosity  and  the  lust  of  trout,  I  went  seventy 
miles  up  the  Canadian  Pacific  in  one  of  the  cross-Con- 
tinent cars,  which  are  cleaner  and  less  stuffy  than  the 
Pullman.  A  man  who  goes  all  the  way  across  Canada 
is  liable  to  be  disappointed  —  not  in  the  scenery,  but  in 
the  progress  of  the  country.  So  a  batch  of  wandering 
politicians  from  England  told  me.  They  even  went  so 
far  as  to  say  that  Eastern  Canada  was  a  failure  and  un- 
profitable. The  place  didn't  move,  they  complained,  and 
whole  counties  —  they  said  provinces  —  lay  under  the  rule 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  priests,  who  took  care  that  the  peo- 
ple should  not  be  overcumbered  with  the  good  things  of 
this  world  to  the  detriment  of  their  souls.  My  inter- 
est was  in  the  line  —  the  real  and  accomplished  railway 
which  is  to  throw  actual  fighting  troops  into  the  East 
some  day  when  our  hold  of  the  Suez  Canal  is  temporarily 
loosened. 

All  that  Vancouver  wants  is  a  fat  earthwork  fort  upon 
a  hill,  —  there  are  plenty  of  hills  to  choose  from,  —  a 
selection  of  big  guns,  a  couple  of  regiments  of  infantry, 
and  later  on  a  big  arsenal.  The  raw  self-consciousness 


54  PKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

of  America  would  be  sure  to  make  her  think  these 
arrangements  intended  for  her  benefit,  but  she  could  be 
enlightened.  It  is  not  seemly  to  leave  unprotected  the 
head-end  of  a  big  railway;  for  though  Victoria  and 
Esquimalt,  our  naval  stations  on  Vancouver  Island, 
are  very  near,  so  also  is  a  place  called  Vladivostok,  and 
though  Vancouver  Narrows  are  strait,  they  allow  room 
enough  for  a  man-of-war.  The  people  —  I  did  not  speak 
to  more  than  two  hundred  of  them  —  do  not  know  about 
Russia  or  military  arrangements.  They  are  trying  to 
open  trade  with  Japan  in  lumber,  and  are  raising  fruit, 
wheat,  and  sometimes  minerals.  All  of  them  agree  that 
we  do  not  yet  know  the  resources  of  British  Columbia, 
and  all  joyfully  bade  me  note  the  climate,  which  was 
distinctly  warm.  "We  never  have  killing  cold  here. 
It's  the  most  perfect  climate  in  the  world."  Then 
there  are  three  perfect  climates,  for  I  have  tasted  'em 
—  California,  Washington  Territory,  and  British  Colum- 
bia. I  cannot  say  which  is  the  loveliest. 

When  I  left  by  steamer  and  struck  across  the  Sound 
to  our  naval  station,  at  Victoria,  Vancouver  Island,  I 
found  in  that  quite  English  town  of  beautiful  streets 
quite  a  colony  of  old  men  doing  nothing  but  talking, 
fishing,  and  loafing  at  the  Club.  That  means  that 
the  retired  go  to  Victoria.  On  a  thousand  a  year 
pension  a  man  would  be  a  millionnaire  in  these  parts, 
and  for  four  hundred  he  could  live  well.  It  was  at 
Victoria  they  told  me  the  tale  of  the  fire  in  Vancouver. 
How  the  inhabitants  of  New  Westminster,  twelve  miles 
from  Vancouver,  saw  a  glare  in  the  sky  at  six  in  the 
evening,  but  thought  it  was  a  forest  fire;  how  later 
bits  of  burnt  paper  flew  about  their  streets,  and  they 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  55 

guessed  that  evil  had  happened;  how  an  hour  later  a 
man  rode  into  the  city  crying  that  there  was  no 
Vancouver  left.  All  had  been  wiped  out  by  the  flames 
in  sixteen  minutes.  How,  two  hours  later,  the  Mayor 
of  New  Westminster  having  voted  nine  thousand  dollars 
from  the  Municipal  funds,  relief-wagons  with  food  and 
blankets  were  pouring  into  where  Vancouver  stood. 
How  fourteen  people  were  supposed  to  have  died  in 
the  fire,  but  how  even  now  when  they  laid  new  founda- 
tions the  workmen  unearth  charred  skeletons,  many 
more  than  fourteen.  "  That  night,"  said  the  teller,  "  all 
Vancouver  was  houseless.  The  wooden  town  had  gone 
in  a  breath.  Next  day  they  began  to  build  in  brick, 
and  you  have  seen  what  they  have  achieved." 

The  sight  afar  off  of  three  British  men-of-war  and 
a  torpedo-boat  consoled  me  as  I  returned  from  Victoria 
to  Tacoma  and  discovered  en  route  that  I  was  surfeited 
with  scenery.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  the  remark  of 
a  discontented  traveller:  "When  you  have  seen  a  fine 
forest,  a  bluff,  a  river,  and  a  lake  you  have  seen  all  the 
scenery  of  western  America.  Sometimes  the  pine  is 
three  hundred  feet  high,  and  sometimes  the  rock  is,  and 
sometimes  the  lake  is  a  hundred  miles  long.  But  it's  all 
the  same,  don't  you  know.  I'm  getting  sick  of  it."  I 
dare  not  say  getting  sick.  I'm  only  tired.  If  Provi- 
dence could  distribute  all  this  beauty  in  little  bits  where 
people  most  wanted  it, —  among  you  in  India,  —  it  would  ^ 
be  well.  But  it  is  en  masse,  overwhelming,  with  nobody 
but  the  tobacco-chewing  captain  of  a  river  steamboat 
to  look  at  it.  Men  said  if  I  went  to  Alaska  I  should  see 
islands  even  more  wooded,  snow-peaks  loftier,  and  rivers 
more  lovely  than  those  around  me.  That  decided  me 


56  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

not  to  go  to  Alaska.  I  went  east  —  east  to  Montana, 
after  another  horrible  night  in  Tacoma  among  the  men 
who  spat.  Why  does  the  Westerner  spit  ?  It  can't 
amuse  him,  and  it  doesn't  interest  his  neighbour. 

But  I  am  beginning  to  mistrust.  Everything  good  as 
well  as  everything  bad  is  supposed  to  come  from  the 
East.  Is  there  a  shooting-scrape  between  prominent  cit- 
izens ?  Oh,  you'll  find  nothing  of  that  kind  in  the  East. 
Is  there  a  more  than  usually  revolting  lynching  ?  They 
don't  do  that  in  the  East.  I  shall  find  out  when  I  get 
there  whether  this  unnatural  perfection  be  real. 

Eastward  then  to  Montana  I  took  my  way  for  the  Yel- 
lowstone National  Park,  called  in  the  guide-books  "  Won- 
derland." But  the  real  Wonderland  began  in  the  train. 
We  were  a  merry  crew.  One  gentleman  announced  his 
intention  of  paying  no  fare  and  grappled  the  conductor, 
who  neatly  cross-buttocked  him  through  a  double  plate- 
glass  window.  His  head  was  cut  open  in  four  or  five 
places.  A  doctor  on  the  train  hastily  stitched  up  the 
biggest  gash,  and  he  was  dropped  at  a  wayside  station, 
spurting  blood  at  every  hair  —  a  scarlet-headed  and 
ghastly  sight.  The  conductor  guessed  that  he  would 
die,  and  volunteered  the  information  that  there  was  no 
profit  in  monkeying  with  the  North  Pacific  Railway. 

Night  was  falling  as  we  cleared  the  forests  and  sailed 
out  upon  a  wilderness  of  sage  brush.  The  desolation  of 
.Montgomery,  the  wilderness  of  Sind,  the  hummock- 
studded  desert  of  Bikaneer,  are  joyous  and  homelike  com- 
pared to  the  impoverished  misery  of  the  sage.  It  is  blue, 
it  is  stunted,  it  is  dusty.  It  wraps  the  rolling  hills  as  a 
mildewed  shroud  wraps  the  body  of  a  long-dead  man.  It 
makes  you  weep  for  sheer  loneliness,  and  there  is  no  get- 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  57 

ting  away  from  it.  When  Childe  Roland  came  to  the 
dark  Tower  he  traversed  the  sage  brush. 

Yet  there  is  one  thing  worse  than  sage  unadulterated, 
and  that  is  a  prairie  city.  We  stopped  at  Pasco  Junction, 
and  a  man  told  me  that  it  was  the  Queen  City  of  the 
Prairie.  I  wish  Americans  didn't  tell  such  useless  lies. 
I  counted  fourteen  or  fifteen  frame-houses,  and  a  portion 
of  a  road  that  showed  like  a  bruise  on  the  untouched  sur- 
face of  the  blue  sage,  running  away  and  away  up  to  the 
setting  sun.  The  sailor  sleeps  with  a  half-inch  plank 
between  himself  and  death.  He  is  at  home  beside  the 
handful  of  people  who  curl  themselves  up  o'  nights  with 
nothing  but  a  frail  scantling,  almost  as  thin  as  a  blanket, 
to  shut  out  the  unmeasurable  loneliness  of  the  sage. 

When  the  train  stopped  on  the  road,  as  it  did  once  or 
twice,  the  solid  silence  of  the  sage  got  up  and  shouted  at 
us.  It  was  like  a  nightmare,  and  one  not  in  the  least  im- 
proved by  having  to  sleep  in  an  emigrant-car ;  the  regu- 
larly ordained  sleepers  being  full.  There  was  a  row  in 
our  car  toward  morning,  a  man  having  managed  to  get 
querulously  drunk  in  the  night.  Up  rose  a  Cornish- 
man  with  a  red  head  full  of  strategy,  and  strapped  the 
obstreperous  one,  smiling  largely  as  he  did  so,  and  a  deli- 
cate little  woman  in  a  far  bunk  watched  the  fray  and 
called  the  drunken  man  a  "  damned  hog,"  which  he  cer- 
tainly was,  though  she  needn't  have  put  it  quite  so 
coarsely.  Emigrant  cars  are  clean,  but  the  accommoda- 
tion is  as  hard  as  a  plank  bed. 

Later  we  laid  our  bones  down  to  crossing  the  Rockies. 
An  American  train  can  climb  up  the  side  of  a  house  if 
need  be,  but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  sit  in  it.  We  clomb 
till  we  struck  violent  cold  and  an  Indian  reservation,  and 


58  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  noble  savage  came  to  look  at  us.  He  was  a  Flat- 
head  and  unlovely.  Most  Americans  are  charmingly 
frank  about  the  Indian.  "  Let  us  get  rid  of  him  as  soon 
as  possible,"  they  say.  "We  have  no  use  for  him." 
Some  of  the  men  I  meet  have  a  notion  that  we  in  India 
are  exterminating  the  native  in  the  same  fashion,  and  I 
have  been  asked  to  fix  a  date  for  the  final  extinguish- 
ment of  the  Aryan.  I  answer  that  it  will  be  a  long  busi- 
ness. Very  many  Americans  have  an  offensive  habit  of 
referring  to  natives  as  "  heathen."  Mahometans  and 
Hindus  are  heathen  alike  in  their  eyes,  and  they  vary 
the  epithet  with  "pagan"  and  "idolater."  But  this  is 
beside  the  matter,  which  is  the  Stampede  Tunnel  —  our 
actual  point  of  crossing  the  Eockies.  Thank  Heaven,  I 
need  never  take  that  tunnel  again !  It  is  about  two  miles 
long,  and  in  effect  is  nothing  more  than  the  gallery  of  a 
mine  shored  with  timber  and  lighted  with  electric  lamps. 
Black  darkness  would  be  preferable,  for  the  lamps  just 
reveal  the  rough  cutting  of  the  rocks,  and  that  is  very 
rough  indeed.  The  train  crawls  through,  brakes  down, 
and  you  can  hear  the  water  and  little  bits  of  stone  falling 
on  the  roof  of  the  car.  Then  you  pray,  pray  fervently, 
and  the  air  gets  stiller  and  stiller,  and  you  dare  not  take 
your  unwilling  eyes  off  the  timber  shoring,  lest  a  prop 
should  fall,  for  lack  of  your  moral  support.  Before  the 
tunnel  was  built  you  crossed  in  the  open  air  by  a  switch- 
back line.  A  watchman  goes  through  the  tunnel  after 
each  train,  but  that  is  no  protection.  He  just  guesses 
that  another  train  will  pull  through,  and  the  engine- 
driver  guesses  the  same  thing.  Some  day  between  the 
two  of  them  there  will  be  a  cave  in  the  tunnel.  Then 
the  enterprising  reporter  will  talk  about  the  shrieks  and 


FROM  SEA  TO   SEA  59 

groans  of  the  buried  and  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  Press 
in  securing  first  information,  and  —  that  will  be  all. 
Human  life  is  of  small  account  out  here. 

I  was  listening  to  yarns  in  the  smoking-compartment 
of  the  Pullman,  all  the  way  to  Helena,  and  with  very 
few  exceptions,  each  had  for  its  point,  violent,  brutal, 
and  ruffianly  murder  —  murder  by  fraud  and  the  craft  of 
the  savage  —  murder  unavenged  by  the  law,  or  at  the 
most  by  an  outbreak  of  fresh  lawlessness.  At  the  end  of 
each  tale  I  was  assured  that  the  old  days  had  passed 
away,  and  that  these  were  anecdotes  of  five  years'  stand- 
ing. One  man  in  particular  distinguished  himself  by 
holding  up  to  admiration  the  exploits  of  some  cowboys 
of  his  acquaintance,  and  their  skill  in  the  use  of  the 
revolver.  Each  tale  of  horror  wound  up  with  "and 
that's  the  sort  of  man  he  was,"  as  who  should  say : 
"  Go  and  do  likewise."  Remember  that  the  shootings, 
the  cuttings,  and  the  stabbings  were  not  the  outcome  of 
any  species  of  legitimate  warfare ;  the  heroes  were  not 
forced  to  fight  for  their  lives.  Far  from  it.  The  brawls 
were  bred  by  liquor  in  which  they  assisted  —  in  saloons 
and  gambling-hells  they  were  wont  to  "  pull  their  guns  " 
on  a  man,  and  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  without 
provocation.  The  tales  sickened  me,  but  taught  one 
thing.  A  man  who  carries  a  pistol  may  be  put  down  as 
a  coward  —  a  person  to  be  shut  out  from  every  decent 
mess  and  club,  and  gathering  of  civilised  folk.  There  is 
neither  chivalry  nor  romance  in  the  weapon,  for  all  that 
American  authors  have  seen  fit  to  write.  I  would  I 
could  make  you  understand  the  full  measure  of  con- 
tempt with  which  certain  aspects  of  Western  life  have 
inspired  me.  Let  us  try  a  comparison.  Sometimes  it 


60  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

happens  that  a  young,  a  very  young,  man,  whose  first 
dress-coat  is  yet  glossy,  gets  slightly  flushed  at  a  dinner- 
party among  his  seniors.  After  the  ladies  are  gone,  he 
begins  to  talk.  He  talks,  you  will  remember,  as  a  "  man 
of  the  world"  and  a  person  of  varied  experiences,  an 
authority  on  all  things  human  and  divine.  The  grey 
heads  of  the  elders  bow  assentingly  to  his  wildest  state- 
ment ;  some  one  tries  to  turn  the  conversation  when  what 
the  youngster  conceives  to  be  wit  has  offended  a  sensi- 
bility; and  another  deftly  slides  the  decanters  beyond 
him  as  they  circle  round  the  table.  You  know  the  feel- 
ing of  discomfort  —  pity  mingled  with  aversion  —  over 
the  boy  who  is  making  an  exhibition  of  himself.  The 
same  emotion  came  back  to  me,  when  an  old  man  who 
ought  to  have  known  better  appealed  from  time  to  time 
for  admiration  of  his  pitiful  sentiments.  It  was  right  in 
his  mind  to  insult,  to  maim,  and  to  kill ;  right  to  evade 
the  law  where  it  was  strong  and  to  trample  over  it  where 
it  was  weak  ;  right  to  swindle  in  politics,  to  lie  in  affairs 
of  State,  and  commit  perjury  in  matters  of  municipal 
administration.  The  car  was  full  of  little  children, 
utterly  regardless  of  their  parents,  fretful,  peevish,  spoilt 
beyond  anything  I  have  ever  seen  in  Anglo-India.  They 
in  time  would  grow  up  into  men  such  as  sat  in  the 
smoker,  and  had  no  regard  for  the  law ;  men  who  would 
conduct  papers  siding  "  with  defiance  of  any  and  every 
law."  But  it's  of  no  consequence,  as  Mr.  Toots  says. 
During  the  descent  of  the  Rockies  we  journeyed  for 
a  season  on  a  trestle  only  two  hundred  and  eighty- 
six  feet  high.  It  was  made  of  iron,  but  up  till  two 
years  ago  a  wooden  structure  bore  up  the  train,  and 
was  used  long  after  it  had  been  condemned  by  the 


FEOM   SEA   TO   SEA  61 

civil  engineers.  Some  day  the  iron  one  will  come  down, 
just  as  Stampede  Tunnel  will,  and  the  results  will  be 
even  more  startling. 

Late  in  the  night  we  ran  over  a  skunk  —  ran  over  it  in 
the  dark.  Everything  that  has  been  said  about  the  skunk 
is  true.  It  is  an  Awesome  Stink. 


No.  XXIX 

SHOWS  HOW  YANKEE  JIM  INTRODUCED  ME  TO  DIANA 
OF  THE  CROSSWAYS  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  YELLOW- 
STONE, AND  HOW  A  GERMAN  JEW  SAID  I  WAS  NO 
TRUE  CITIZEN.  ENDS  WITH  THE  CELEBRATION  OF 
THE  4TH  OF  JULY  AND  A  FEW  LESSONS  THEREFROM. 

LIVINGSTONE  is  a  town  of  two  thousand  people,  and 
the  junction  for  the  little  side-line  that  takes  you  to  the 
Yellowstone  National  Park.  It  lies  in  a  fold  of  the 
prairie,  and  behind  it  is  the  Yellowstone  River  and 
the  gate  of  the  mountains  through  which  the  river 
flows.  There  is  one  street  in  the  town,  where  the  cow- 
boy's pony  and  the  little  foal  of  the  brood-mare  in  the 
buggy  rest  contentedly  in  the  blinding  sunshine  while 
the  cowboy  gets  himself  shaved  at  the  only  other  barber's 
shop,  and  swaps  lies  at  the  bar.  I  exhausted  the  town, 
including  the  saloons,  in  ten  minutes,  and  got  away  on 
the  rolling  grass  downs  where  I  threw  myself  to  rest. 
Directly  under  the  hill  I  was  on,  swept  a  drove  of 
horses  in  charge  of  two  mounted  men.  That  was  a 
picture  I  shall  not  soon  forget.  A  light  haze  of  dust 
went  up  from  the  hoof-trodden  green,  scarcely  veiling 
the  unfettered  deviltries  of  three  hundred  horses  who 
very  much  wanted  to  stop  and  graze.  "  Yow !  Yow ! 
Yow ! "  yapped  the  mounted  men  in  chorus  like  coyotes. 
The  column  moved  forward  at  a  trot,  divided  as  it  met 

62 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  63 

a  hillock  and  scattered  into  fan  shape  all  among  the 
suburbs  of  Livingstone.  I  heard  the  "  snick  "  of  a  stock 
whip,  half  a  dozen  "  Yow,  yows,"  and  the  mob  had  come 
together  again,  and,  with  neighing  and  whickering  and 
squealing  and  a  great  deal  of  kicking  on  the  part  of 
the  youngsters,  rolled  like  a  wave  of  brown  water 
toward  the  uplands. 

I  was  within  twenty  feet  of  the  leader,  a  grey  stallion 
—  lord  of  many  brood-mares  all  deeply  concerned  for 
the  welfare  of  their  fuzzy  foals.  A  cream-coloured 
beast  —  I  knew  him  at  once  for  the  bad  character  of 
the  troop  —  broke  back,  taking  with  him  some  frivolous 
fillies.  I  heard  the  snick  of  the  whips  somewhere  in 
the  dust,  and  the  fillies  came  back  at  a  canter,  very 
shocked  and  indignant.  On  the  heels  of  the  last  rode 
both  the  stockmen  —  picturesque  ruffians  who  wanted 
to  know  "  what  in  hell "  I  was  doing  there,  waved  their 
hats,  and  sped  down  the  slope  after  their  charges. 
When  the  noise  of  the  troop  had  died  there  came  a 
wonderful  silence  on  all  the  prairie  —  that  silence,  they 
say,  which  enters  into  the  heart  of  the  old-time  hunter 
and  trapper  and  marks  him  off  from  the  rest  of  his 
race.  The  town  disappeared  in  the  darkness,  and  a  very 
young  moon  showed  herself  over  a  bald-headed,  snow- 
flecked  peak.  Then  the  Yellowstone,  hidden  by  the 
water-willows,  lifted  up  its  voice  and  sang  a  little  song 
to  the  mountains,  and  an  old  horse  that  had  crept  up 
in  the  dusk  breathed  inquiringly  on  the  back  of  my 
neck.  When  I  reached  the  hotel  I  found  all  manner 
of  preparation  under  way  for  the  4th  of  July,  and  a 
drunken  man  with  a  Winchester  rifle  over  his  shoulder 
patrolling  the  sidewalk.  I  do  not  think  he  wanted  any 


64  FKOM   SEA  TO  SEA 

one.  He  carried  the  gun  as  other  folk  carry  walking- 
sticks.  None  the  less  I  avoided  the  direct  line  of  fire 
and  listened  to  the  blasphemies  of  miners  and  stockmen 
till  far  into  the  night.  In  every  bar-room  lay  a  copy 
of  the  local  paper,  and  every  copy  impressed  it  upon 
the  inhabitants  of  Livingstone  that  they  were  the  best, 
finest,  bravest,  richest,  and  most  progressive  town,  of 
the  most  progressive  nation  under  Heaven ;  even  as  the 
Tacoma  and  Portland  papers  had  belauded  their  readers. 
And  yet,  all  my  purblind  eyes  could  see  was  a  grubby 
little  hamlet  full  of  men  without  clean  collars  and  per- 
fectly unable  to  get  through  one  sentence  unadorned  by 
three  oaths.  They  raise  horses  and  minerals  round  and 
about  Livingstone,  but  they  behave  as  though  they  raised 
cherubims  with  diamonds  in  their  wings. 

From  Livingstone  the  National  Park  train  follows  the 
Yellowstone  River  through  the  gate  of  the  mountains  and 
over  arid  volcanic  country.  A  stranger  in  the  cars  saw 
me  look  at  the  ideal  trout-stream  below  the  windows  and 
murmured  softly:  "Lie  off  at  Yankee  Jim's  if  you 
want  good  fishing."  They  halted  the  train  at  the 
head  of  a  narrow  valley,  and  I  leaped  literally  into 
the  arms  of  Yankee  Jim,  sole  owner  of  a  log  hut,  an 
indefinite  amount  of  hay-ground,  and  constructor  of 
twenty-seven  miles  of  wagon-road  over  which  he  held 
toll  right.  There  was  the  hut  —  the  river  fifty  yards 
away,  and  the  polished  line  of  metals  that  disappeared 
round  a  bluff.  That  was  all.  The  railway  added  the 
finishing  touch  to  the  already  complete  loneliness  of  the 
place.  Yankee  Jim  was  a  picturesque  old  man  with  a 
talent  for  yarns  that  Ananias  might  have  envied.  It 
seemed  to  me,  presumptuous  in  my  ignorance,  that  I  might 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  65 

hold  my  own  with  the  old-timer  if  I  judiciously  painted 
up  a  few  lies  gathered  in  the  course  of  my  wanderings. 
Yankee  Jim  saw  every  one  of  my  tales  and  went  fifty 
better  on  the  spot.  He  dealt  in  bears  and  Indians  — 
never  less  than  tAventy  of  each  ;  had  known  the  Yellow- 
stone country  for  years,  and  bore  upon  his  body  marks 
of  Indian  arrows ;  and  his  eyes  had  seen  a  squaw  of  the 
Crow  Indians  burned  alive  at  the  stake.  He  said  she 
screamed  considerable.  In  one  point  did  he  speak  the 
truth  —  as  regarded  the  merits  of  that  particular  reach  of 
the  Yellowstone.  He  said  it  was  alive  with  trout.  It 
was.  I  fished  it  from  noon  till  twilight,  and  the  fish  bit 
at  the  brown  hook  as  though  never  a  fat  trout-fly  had 
fallen  on  the  water.  From  pebbly  reaches,  quivering  in 
the  heat-haze  where  the  foot  caught  on  stumps  cut  four- 
square by  the  chisel-tooth  of  the  beaver ;  past  the  fringe 
of  the  water-willow  crowded  with  the  breeding  trout-fly 
and  alive  with  toads  and  water-snakes ;  over  the  drifted 
timber  to  the  grateful  shadow  of  big  trees  that  darkened 
the  holes  where  the  fattest  fish  lay,  I  worked  for 
seven  hours.  The  mountain  flanks  on  either  side  of  the 
valley  gave  back  the  heat  as  the  desert  gives  it,  and  the 
dry  sand  by  the  railway  track,  where  I  found  a  rattle- 
snake, was  hot-iron  to  the  touch.  But  the  trout  did  not 
care  for  the  heat.  They  breasted  the  boiling  river  for 
my  fly  and  they  got  it.  I  simply  dare  not  give  my  bag. 
At  the  fortieth  trout  I  gave  up  counting,  and  I  had 
reached  the  fortieth  in  less  than  two  hours.  They  were 
small  fish,  — not  one  over  two  pounds,  — but  they  fought 
like  small  tigers,  and  I  lost  three  flies  before  I  could  un- 
derstand their  methods  of  escape.  Ye  gods  !  That  was 
fishing,  though  it  peeled  the  skin  from  my  nose  in  strips. 

VOL.    II F 


66  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

At  twilight  Yankee  Jim  bore  me  off,  protesting,  to 
supper  in  the  hut.  The  fish  had  prepared  me  for  any 
surprise,  wherefore  when  Yankee  Jim  introduced  me  to 
a  young  woman  of  five-and-twenty,  with  eyes  like  the 
deep-fringed  eyes  of  the  gazelle,  and  "  on  the  neck  the 
small  head  buoyant,  like  a  bell-flower  in  its  bed,"  I  said 
nothing.  It  was  all  in  the  day's  events.  She  was  Cali- 
fornia-raised, the  wife  of  a  man  who  owned  a  stock-farm 
"up  the  river  a  little  ways,"  and,  with  her  husband, 
tenant  of  Yankee  Jim's  shanty.  I  know  she  wore  list 
slippers  and  did  not  wear  stays ;  but  I  know  also  that 
she  was  beautiful  by  any  standard  of  beauty,  and  that 
the  trout  she  cooked  were  fit  for  a  king's  supper.  And 
after  supper  strange  men  loafed  up  in  the  dim  delicious 
twilight,  with  the  little  news  of  the  day  —  how  a  heifer 
had  "  gone  strayed  "  from  Nicholson's ;  how  the  widow  at 
Grant's  Fork  wouldn't  part  with  a  little  hayland  nohow, 
though  "  she's  an'  her  big  brothers  can't  manage  more  than 
ha-af  their  land  now.  She's  so  darned  proud."  Diana  of 
the  Crossways  entertained  them  in  queenly  wise,  and  her 
husband  and  Yankee  Jim  bade  them  sit  right  down  and 
make  themselves  at  home.  Then  did  Yankee  Jim  uncurl 
his  choicest  lies  on  Indian  warfare  aforetime ;  then  did 
the  whisky-flask  circle  round  the  little  crowd ;  then  did 
Diana's  husband  'low  that  he  was  quite  handy  with  the 
lariat,  but  had  seen  men  rope  a  steer  by  any  foot  or  horn 
indicated;  then  did  Diana  unburden  herself  about  her 
neighbours.  The  nearest  house  was  three  miles  away, 
"but  the  women  aren't  nice,  neighbourly  folk.  They 
talk  so.  They  haven't  got  anything  else  to  do  seem- 
ingly. If  a  woman  goes  to  a  dance  and  has  a  good  time, 
they  talk,  and  if  she  wears  a  silk  dress,  they  want  to 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  67 

know  how  jest  ranchin'  folks  —  folk  on  a  ranche  —  come 
by  such  things ;  and  they  make  mischief  down  all  the 
lands  here  from  Gardiner  City  way  back  up  to  Living- 
stone. They're  mostly  Montanna  raised,  and  they 
haven't  been  nowheres.  Ah,  how  they  talk ! "  "  Were 
things  like  this,"  demanded  Diana,  "  in  the  big  world 
outside,  whence  I  had  come  ?  "  "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  things 
were  very  much  the  same  all  over  the  world,"  and  I 
thought  of  a  far-away  station  in  India  where  new 
dresses  and  the  having  of  good  times  at  dances  raised 
cackle  more  grammatical  perhaps,  but  no  less  venomous 
than  the  gossip  of  the  "  Montanna-raised "  folk  on  the 
ranches  of  the  Yellowstone. 

Next  morn  I  fished  again  and  listened  to  Diana  telling 
the  story  of  her  life.  I  forget  what  she  told  me,  but  I 
am  distinctly  aware  that  she  had  royal  eyes  and  a  mouth 
that  the  daughter  of  a  hundred  earls  might  have  envied 
—  so  small  and  so  delicately  cut  it  was.  "  An'  you  come 
back  an'  see  us  again,"  said  the  simple-minded  folk. 
"Come  back  an'  we'll  show  you  how  to  catch  six- 
pound  trout  at  the  head  of  the  canon." 

To-day  I  am  in  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and  I  wish  I 
were  dead.  The  train  halted  at  Cinnabar  station,  and  we 
were  decanted,  a  howling  crowd  of  us,  into  stages,  vari- 
ously horsed,  for  the  eight-mile  drive  to  the  first  spec- 
tacle of  the  Park  —  a  place  called  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs.  "  What  means  this  eager,  anxious  throng  ?  "  I 
asked  the  driver.  "You've  struck  one  of  Eayment's 
excursion  parties  —  that's  all  —  a  crowd  of  creator-con- 
demned fools  mostly.  Aren't  you  one  of  'em  ?  "  "  No," 
I  said.  "May  I  sit  up  here  with  you,  great  chief  and 
man  with  a  golden  tongue?  I  do  not  know  Mister 


68  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

Rayment.  I  belong  to  T.  Cook  and  Son."  The  other 
person,  from  the  quality  of  the  material  he  handles, 
must  be  the  son  of  a  sea-cook.  He  collects  masses  of 
Down-Easters  from  the  New  England  States  and  else- 
where and  hurls  them  across  the  Continent  and  into 
the  Yellowstone  Park  on  tour.  A  brake-load  of  Cook's 
Continental  tourists  trapezing  through  Paris  (I've  seen 
'em)  are  angels  of  light  compared  to  the  Rayment 
trippers.  It  is  not  the  ghastly  vulgarity,  the  oozing, 
rampant  Bessemer-steel  self-sufficiency  and  ignorance 
of  the  men  that  revolts  me,  so  much  as  the  display  of 
these  same  qualities  in  the  women-folk.  I  saw  a  new 
type  in  the  coach,  and  all  my  dreams  of  a  better  and 
more  perfect  East  died  away.  "  Are  these  —  um  —  per- 
sons here  any  sort  of  persons  in  their  own  places?" 
I  asked  a  shepherd  who  appeared  to  be  herding 
them. 

"  Why,  certainly.  They  include  very  many  prominent 
and  representative  citizens  from  seven  States  of  the 
Union,  and  most  of  them  are  wealthy.  Yes,  sir. 
Representative  and  prominent." 

We  ran  across  bare  hills  on  an  unmetalled  road  under 
a  burning  sun  in  front  of  a  volley  of  playful  repartee 
from  the  prominent  citizens  inside.  It  was  the  4th  of 
July.  The  horses  had  American  flags  in  their  head- 
stalls, some  of  the  women  wore  flags  and  coloured  hand- 
kerchiefs in  their  belts,  and  a  young  German  on  the 
box-seat  with  me  was  bewailing  the  loss  of  a  box  of 
crackers.  He  said  he  had  been  sent  to  the  Continent  to 
get  his  schooling  and  so  had  lost  his  American  accent ; 
but  no  Continental  schooling  writes  German  Jew  all 
over  a  man's  face  and  nose.  He  was  a  rabid  American 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  69 

citizen  —  one  of  a  very  difficult  class  to  deal  with.  As 
a  general  rule,  praise  unsparingly,  and  without  dis- 
crimination. That  keeps  most  men  quiet:  but  some, 
if  you  fail  to  keep  up  a  continuous  stream  of  praise, 
proceed  to  revile  the  Old  Country  —  Germans  and  Irish 
who  are  more  Americans  than  the  Americans  are  the 
chief  offenders.  This  young  American  began  to  attack 
the  English  army.  He  had  seen  some  of  it  on  parade  and 
he  pitied  the  men  in  bearskins  as  "slaves."  The  citizen, 
by  the  way,  has  a  contempt  for  his  own  army  which 
exceeds  anything  you  meet  among  the  most  illiberal 
classes  in  England.  I  admitted  that  our  army  was  very 
poor,  had  done  nothing,  and  had  been  nowhere.  This 
exasperated  him,  for  he  expected  an  argument,  and  he 
trampled  on  the  British  Lion  generally.  Failing  to 
move  me,  he  vowed  that  I  had  no  patriotism  like  his 
own.  I  said  I  had  not,  and  further  ventured  that  very 
few  Englishmen  had;  which,  when  you  come  to  think 
of  it,  is  quite  true.  By  the  time  he  had  proved  conclu- 
sively that  before  the  Prince  of  Wales  came  to  the 
throne  we  should  be  a  blethering  republic,  we  struck  a 
road  that  overhung  a  river,  and  my  interest  in  "  politics  " 
was  lost  in  admiration  of  the  driver's  skill  as  he  sent  his 
four  big  horses  along  that  winding  road.  There  was 
no  room  for  any  sort  of  accident — a  shy  or  a  swerve 
would  have  dropped  us  sixty  feet  into  the  roaring  Gar- 
diner River.  Some  of  the  persons  in  the  coach  remarked 
that  the  scenery  was  "elegant."  Wherefore,  even  at 
the  risk  of  my  own  life,  I  did  urgently  desire  an  acci- 
dent and  the  massacre  of  some  of  the  more  prominent 
citizens.  What  "  elegance  "  lies  in  a  thousand-foot  pile 
of  honey-coloured  rock,  riven  into  peak  and  battlement, 


70  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  highest  peak  defiantly  crowned  by  an  eagle's  nest, 
the  eaglet  peering  into  the  gulf  and  screaming  for  his 
food,  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  understand.  But 
they  speak  a  strange  tongue. 

En  route  we  passed  other  carriages  full  of  trippers, 
who  had  done  their  appointed  five  days  in  the  Park, 
and  yelped  at  us  fraternally  as  they  disappeared  in 
clouds  of  red  dust.  When  we  struck  the  Mammoth 
Hot  Spring  Hotel  —  a  huge  yellow  barn  —  a  sign-board 
informed  us  that  the  altitude  was  six  thousand  two 
hundred  feet.  The  Park  is  just  a  howling  wilderness 
of  three  thousand  square  miles,  full  of  all  imaginable 
freaks  of  a  fiery  nature.  An  hotel  company,  assisted 
by  the  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Interior,  appears 
to  control  it;  there  are  hotels  at  all  the  points  of 
interest,  guide-books,  stalls  for  the  sale  of  minerals,  and 
so  forth,  after  the  model  of  Swiss  summer  places. 

The  tourists  —  may  their  master  die  an  evil  death  at 
the  hand  of  a  mad  locomotive !  —  poured  into  that  place 
with  a  joyful  whoop,  and,  scarce  washing  the  dust 
from  themselves,  began  to  celebrate  the  4th  of  July. 
They  called  it  "  patriotic  exercises  "  ;  elected  a  clergyman 
of  their  own  faith  as  president,  and,  sitting  on  the  land- 
ing of  the  first  floor,  began  to  make  speeches  and  read 
the  Declaration  of  Independence.  The  clergyman,  rose 
tip  and  told  them  they  were  the  greatest,  freest,  sub- 
limest,  most  chivalrous,  and  richest  people  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  and  they  all  said  Amen.  Another  clergyman 
asserted  in  the  words  of  the  Declaration  that  all  men 
were  created  equal,  and  equally  entitled  to  Life,  Liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  Happiness.  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  the  wild  and  woolly  West  recognises  this  first 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  71 

right  as  freely  as  the  grantors  intended.  The  clergyman 
then  bade  the  world  note  that  the  tourists  included  repre- 
sentatives of  seven  of  the  New  England  States  ;  whereat 
I  felt  deeply  sorry  for  the  New  England  States  in  their 
latter  days.  He  opined  that  this  running  to  and  fro  upon 
the  earth,  under  the  auspices  of  the  excellent  Kayment, 
would  draw  America  more  closely  together,  especially 
when  the  Westerners  remembered  the  perils  that  they  of 
the  East  had  surmounted  by  rail  and  river.  At  duly 
appointed  intervals  the  congregation  sang  "  My  country, 
'tis  of  thee"  to  the  tune  of  "  God  save  the  Queen"  (here 
they  did  not  stand  up)  and  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner  " 
(here  they  did),  winding  up  the  exercise  with  some  dog- 
grel  of  their  own  composition  to  the  tune  of  "John 
Brown's  Body,"  movingly  setting  forth  the  perils  before 
alluded  to.  They  then  adjourned  to  the  verandahs  and 
watched  fire-crackers  of  the  feeblest,  exploding  one  by 
one,  for  several  hours. 

What  amazed  me  was  the  calm  with  which  these  folks 
gathered  together  and  commenced  to  belaud  their  noble 
selves,  their  country,  and  their  "  institootions "  and 
everything  else  that  was  theirs.  The  language  was,  to 
these  bewildered  ears,  wild  advertisement,  gas,  bunkum, 
blow,  anything  you  please  beyond  the  bounds  of  com- 
mon sense.  An  archangel,  selling  town-lots  on  the 
Glassy  Sea,  would  have  blushed  to  the  tips  of  his 
wings  to  describe  his  property  in  similar  terms.  Then 
they  gathered  round  the  pastor  and  told  him  his  little 
sermon  was  "  perfectly  glorious,"  really  grand,  sublime, 
and  so  forth,  and  he  bridled  ecclesiastically.  At  the  end 
a  perfectly  unknown  man  attacked  me  and  asked  me 
what  I  thought  of  American  patriotism.  I  said  there 


72  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

was  nothing  like  it  in  the  Old  Country.  By  the  way, 
always  tell  an  American  this.  It  soothes  him. 

Then  said  he  :  "  Are  you  going  to  get  out  your  letters, 
—  your  letters  of  naturalisation  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  presoom  you  do  business  in  this  country,  and  make 
money  out  of  it,  —  and  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be 
your  dooty." 

"Sir,"  said  I,  sweetly,  "there  is  a  forgotten  little 
island  across  the  seas  called  England.  It  is  not  much 
bigger  than  the  Yellowstone  Park.  In  that  island  a 
man  of  your  country  could  work,  marry,  make  his  for- 
tune or  twenty  fortunes,  and  die.  Throughout  his 
career  not  one  soul  wo'uld  ask  him  whether  he  were  a 
British  subject  or  a  child  of  the  Devil.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  " 

I  think  he  did,  because  he  said  something  about 
"  Britishers  "  which  wasn't  complimentary. 


No.  XXX 

SHOWS  HOW  I  ENTERED  MAZANDERAN  OF  THE  PERSIANS 
AND  SAW  DEVILS  OF  EVERY  COLOUR,  AND  SOME 
TROOPERS.  HELL  AND  THE  OLD  LADY  FROM  CHI- 
CAGO. THE  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  LIEUTENANT. 

"  That  desolate  land  and  lone 
Where  the  Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone 
Eoaf  down  their  mountain  path." 

TWICE  have  I  written  this  letter  from  end  to  end. 
Twice  have  I  torn  it  up,  fearing  lest  those  across  the 
water  should  say  that  I  had  gone  mad  on  a  sudden. 
Now  we  will  begin  for  the  third  time  quite  solemnly 
and  soberly.  I  have  been  through  the  Yellowstone 
National  Park  in  a  buggy,  in  the  company  of  an  ad- 
venturous old  lady  from  Chicago  and  her  husband,  who 
disapproved  of  scenery  as  being  "  ongodly."  I  fancy  it 
scared  them. 

We  began,  as  you  know,  with  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs.  They  are  only  a  gigantic  edition  of  those 
pink  and  white  terraces  not  long  ago  destroyed  by 
earthquake  in  New  Zealand.  At  one  end  of  the  little 
valley  in  which  the  hotel  stands  the  lime-laden  springs 
that  break  from  the  pine-covered  hillsides  have  formed 
a  frozen  cataract  of  white,  lemon,  and  palest  pink  forma- 
tion, through  and  over  and  in  which  water  of  the  warm- 

73 


74  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

est  bubbles  and  drips  and  trickles  from  pale-green  lagoon 
to  exquisitely  fretted  basin.  The  ground  rings  hollow  as 
a  kerosene-tin,  and  some  day  the  Mammoth  Hotel,  guests 
and  all,  will  sink  into  the  caverns  below  and  be  turned 
into  a  stalactite.  When  I  set  foot  on  the  first  of  the  ter- 
races, a  tourist-trampled  ramp  of  scabby  grey  stuff,  I 
met  a  stream  of  iron-red  hot  water  which  ducked  into  a 
hole  like  a  rabbit.  Followed  a  gentle  chuckle  of  laugh- 
ter, and  then  a  deep,  exhausted  sigh  from  nowhere  in 
particular.  Fifty  feet  above  my  head  a  jet  of  stream 
rose  up  and  died  out  in  the  blue.  It  was  worse  than  the 
boiling  mountain  at  Myanoshita.  The  dirty  white  de- 
posit gave  place  to  lime  whiter  than  snow;  and  I  found 
a  basin  which  some  learned  hotel-keeper  has  christened 
Cleopatra's  pitcher,  or  Mark  Antony's  whisky-jug,  or 
something  equally  poetical.  It  was  made  of  frosted 
silver ;  it  was  filled  with  water  as  clear  as  the  sky.  I 
do  not  know  the  depth  of  that  wonder.  The  eye  looked 
down  beyond  grottoes  and  caves  of  beryl  into  an  abyss 
that  communicated  directly  with  the  central  fires  of 
earth.  And  the  pool  was  in  pain,  so  that  it  could  not 
refrain  from  talking  about  it;  muttering  and  chatter- 
ing and  moaning.  From  the  lips  of  the  lime-ledges, 
forty  feet  under  water,  spurts  of  silver  bubbles  would 
fly  up  and  break  the  peace  of  the  crystal  atop.  Then 
the  whole  pool  would  shake  and  grow  dim,  and  there 
were  noises.  I  removed  myself  only  to  find  other  pools 
all  equally  unhappy,  rifts  in  the  ground,  full  of  running, 
red-hot  water,  slippery  sheets  of  deposit  overlaid  with 
greenish  grey  hot  water,  and  here  and  there  pit-holes  dry 
as  a  rifled  tomb  in  India,  dusty  and  waterless.  Else- 
where the  infernal  waters  had  first  boiled  dead  and  then 


FROM   SEA  TO  SEA  7,1 

embalmed  the  pines  and  underwood,  or  the  forest  trees 
had  taken  heart  and  smothered  up  a  blind  formation 
with  greenery,  so  that  it  was  only  by  scraping  the  earth 
you  could  tell  what  fires  had  raged  beneath.  Yet  the 
pines  will  win  the  battle  in  years  to  come,  because  Na- 
ture, who  first  forges  all  her  work  in  her  great  smithies, 
has  nearly  finished  this  job,  and  is  ready  to  temper  it  in 
the  soft  brown  earth.  The  fires  are  dying  down;  the 
hotel  is  built  where  terraces  have  overflowed  into  flat 
wastes  of  deposit;  the  pines  have  taken  possession  of 
the  high  ground  whence  the  terraces  first  started.  Only 
the  actual  curve  of  the  cataract  stands  clear,  and  it  is 
guarded  by  soldiers  who  patrol  it  with  loaded  six-shooters, 
in  order  that  the  tourist  may  not  bring  up  fence-rails  and 
sink  them  in  a  pool,  or  chip  the  fretted  tracery  of  the 
formations  with  a  geological  hammer,  or,  walking  where 
the  crust  is  too  thin,  foolishly  cook  himself. 

I  manoeuvred  round  those  soldiers.  They  were  cavalry 
in  a  very  slovenly  uniform,  dark-blue  blouse,  and  light- 
blue  trousers  unstrapped,  cut  spoon-shape  over  the  boot ; 
cartridge  belt,  revolver,  peaked  cap,  and  worsted  gloves 
—  black  buttons  !  By  the  mercy  of  Allah  I  opened  con- 
versation with  a  spectacled  Scot.  He  had  served  the 
Queen  in  the  Marines  and  a  Line  regiment,  a,nd  the 
"  go-fever "  being  in  his  bones,  had  drifted  to  America, 
there  to  serve  Uncle  Sam.  We  sat  on  the  edge  of  an 
extinct  little  pool,  that  under  happier  circumstances 
would  have  grown  into  a  geyser,  and  began  to  discuss 
things  generally.  To  us  appeared  yet  another  soldier. 
•No  need  to  ask  his  nationality  or  to  be  told  that  the 
troop  called  him  "  The  Henglishman."  A  cockney  was 
he,  who  had  seen  something  of  warfare  in  Egypt,  and 


76  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

had  taken  his  discharge  from  a  Fusilier  regiment  not 
unknown  to  you. 

"  And  how  do  things  go  ?  " 

".Very  much  as  you  please,"  said  they.  "  There's 
not  half  the  discipline  here  that  there  is  in  the  Queen's 
service  —  not  half  —  nor  the  work  either,  but  what  there 
is,  is  rough  work.  Why,  there's  a  sergeant  now  with  a 
black  eye  that  one  of  our  men  gave  him.  They  won't 
say  anything  about  that,  of  course.  Our  punishments  ? 
Fines  mostly,  and  then  if  you  carry  on  too  much  you  go 
to  the  cooler  —  that's  the  clink.  Yes,  Sir.  Horses  ? 
Oh,  they're  devils,  these  Montanna  horses.  Bronchos 
mostly.  We  don't  slick  'em  up  for  parade  —  not  much. 
And  the  amount  of  schooling  that  you  put  into  one  Eng- 
lish troop-horse  would  be  enough  for  a  whole  squadron 
of  these  creatures.  You'll  meet  more  troopers  further 
up  the  Park.  Go  and  look  at  their  horses  and  their 
turnouts.  I  fancy  it'll  startle  you.  I'm  wearing  a  made 
tie  and  a  breastpin  under  my  blouse  ?  Of  course  I  am ! 
I  can  wear  anything  I  darn  please.  We  aren't  particular 
here.  I  shouldn't  dare  come  on  parade  —  no,  nor  yet 
fatigue  duty  —  in  this  condition  in  the  Old  Country ;  but 
it  don't  matter  here.  But  don't  you  forget,  Sir,  that 
it's  taught  me  how  to  trust  to  myself,  and  my  shooting 
irons.  I  don't  want  fifty  orders  to  move  me  across  the 
Park,  and  catch  a  poacher.  Yes,  they  poach  here.  Men 
come  in  with  an  outfit  and  ponies,  smuggle  in  a  gun  or 
two,  and  shoot  the  bison.  If  you  interfere,  they  shoot  at 
you.  Then  you  confiscate  all  their  outfit  and  their 
ponies.  We  have  a  pound  full  of  them  now  down  be- 
low. There's  our  Captain  over  yonder.  Speak  to  him  if 
you  want  to  know  anything  special.  This  service  isn't 


FROM    SEA  TO   SEA.  77 

a  patch  on  the  Old  Country's  service ;  but  you  look,  if 
it  was  worked  up  it  would  be  just  a  Hell  of  a  service. 
But  these  citizens  despise  us,  and  they  put  us  on  to 
road-mending,  and  such  like.  'ISTough  to  ruin  any 
army." 

To  the  Captain  I  addressed  myself  after  my  friends 
had  gone.  They  told  me  that  a  good  many  American  offi- 
cers dressed  by  the  French  army.  The  Captain  certainly 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  French  officer  of  light 
cavalry,  and  he  had  more  than  the  courtesy  of  a  French- 
man. Yes,  he  had  read  a  good  deal  about  our  Indian  bor- 
der warfare,  and  had  been  much  struck  with  the  likeness 
it  bore  to  Red  Indian  warfare.  I  had  better,  when  I 
reached  the  next  cavalry  post,  scattered  between  two  big 
geyser  basins,  introduce  myself  to  a  Captain  and  Lieuten- 
ant. They  could  show  me  things.  He  himself  was  de- 
voting all  his  time  to  conserving  the  terraces,  and  sur- 
reptitiously running  hot  water  into  dried-up  basins  that 
fresh  pools  might  form.  "  I  get  very  interested  in  that 
sort  of  thing.  It's  not  duty,  but  it's  what  I'm  put  here 
for."  And  then  he  began  to  talk  of  his  troop  as  I  have 
heard  his  brethren  in  India  talk.  Such  a  troop !  Built 
up  carefully,  and  watched  lovingly ;  "  not  a  man  that  I'd 
wish  to  exchange,  and,  what's  more,  I  believe  not  a  man 
that  would  wish  to  leave  on  his  own  account.  We're 
different,  I  believe,  from  the  English.  Your  officers 
value  the  horses;  we  set  store  on  the  men.  We  train 
them  more  than  we  do  the  horses." 

Of  the  American  trooper  I  will  tell  you  more  here- 
after. He  is  not  a  gentleman  to  be  trifled  with. 

Next  dawning,  entering  a  buggy  of  fragile  construc- 
tion, with  the  old  people  from  Chicago,  I  embarked  on 


78  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

my  perilous  career.  We  ran  straight  up  a  mountain 
till  we  could  see,  sixty  miles  away,  the  white  houses  of 
Cook  City  on  another  mountain,  and  the  whiplash-like 
trail  leading  thereto.  The  live  air  made  me  drunk.  If 
Tom,  the  driver,  had  proposed  to  send  the  mares  in  a 
bee-line  to  the  city,  I  should  have  assented,  and  so  would 
the  old  lady,  who  chewed  gum  and  talked  about  her 
symptoms.  The  tub-ended  rock-dog,  which  is  but  the 
translated  prairie-dog,  broke  across  the  road  under  our 
horses'  feet,  the  rabbit  and  the  chipmunk  danced  with 
fright;  we  heard  the  roar  of  the  river,  and  the  road 
went  round  a  corner.  On  one  side  piled  rock  and  shale, 
that  enjoined  silence  for  fear  of  a  general  slide-down; 
on  the  other  a  sheer  drop,  and  a  fool  of  a  noisy  river 
below.  Then,'  apparently  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
lest  any  should  find  driving  too  easy,  a  post  of  rock. 
Nothing  beyond  that  save  the  flank  of  a  cliff.  Then  my 
stomach  departed  from  me,  as  it  does  when  you  swing, 
for  we  left  the  dirt,  which  was  at  least  some  guarantee 
of  safety,  and  sailed  out  round  the  curve,  and  up  a  steep 
incline,  on  a  plank-road  built  out  from  the  cliff.  The 
planks  were  nailed  at  the  outer  edge,  and  did  not  shift 
or  creak  very  much  —  but  enough,  quite  enough.  That  was 
the  Golden  Gate.  I  got  my  stomach  back  again  when  we 
trotted  out  on  to  a  vast  upland  adorned  with  a  lake  and 
hills.  Have  you  ever  seen  an  untouched  land  —  the  face 
of  virgin  Nature  ?  It  is  rather  a  curious  sight,  because 
the  hills  are  choked  with  timber  that  has  never  known 
an  axe,  and  the  storm  has  rent  a  way  through  this  tim- 
ber, so  that  a  hundred  thousand  trees  lie  matted  together 
in  swathes ;  and,  since  each  tree  lies  where  it  falls,  you 
may  behold  trunk  and  branch  returning  to  the  earth 


FEOM   SEA   TO   SEA  79 

whence  they  sprang  —  exactly  as  the  bodj  of  man  re- 
turns —  each  limb  making  its  own  little  grave,  the  grass 
climbing  above  the  bark,  till  at  last  there  remains  only 
the  outline  of  a  tree  upon  the  rank  undergrowth. 

Then  we  drove  under  a  cliff  of  obsidian,  which  is 
black  glass,  some  two  hundred  feet  high ;  and  the  road 
at  its  foot  was  made  of  black  glass  that  crackled.  This 
was  no  great  matter,  because  half  an  hour  before  Tom 
had  pulled  up  in  the  woods  that  we  might  sufficiently 
admire  a  mountain  who  stood  all  by  himself,  shaking 
with  laughter  or  rage. 

The  glass  cliff  overlooks  a  lake  where  the  beavers 
built  a  dam  about  a  mile  and  a  half  long  in  a  zig- 
zag line,  as  their  necessities  prompted.  Then  came 
the  Government  and  strictly  preserved  them,  and, 
as  you  shall  learn  later  on,  they  be  damn  impudent 
beasts.  '  The  old  lady  had  hardly  explained  the  natural 
history  of  beavers  before  we  climbed  some  hills  —  it 
really  didn't  matter  in  that  climate,  because  we  could 
have  scaled  the  stars  —  and  (this  mattered  very  much 
indeed)  shot  down  a  desperate,  dusty  slope,  brakes 
shrieking  on  the  wheels,  the  mares  clicking  among  un- 
seen rocks,  the  dust  dense  as  a  fog,  and  a  wall  of  trees 
on  either  side.  "  How  do  the  heavy  four-horse  coaches 
take  it,  Tom  ?  "  I  asked,  remembering  that  some  twenty- 
three  souls  had  gone  that  way  half  an  hour  before. 
"  Take  it  at  the  run ! "  said  Tom,  spitting  out  the  dust. 
Of  course  there  was  a  sharp  curve,  and  a  bridge  at  the 
bottom,  but  luckily  nothing  met  us,  and  we  came  to  a 
wooden  shanty  called  an  hotel,  in  time  for  a  crazy  tiffin 
served  by  very  gorgeous  handmaids  with  very  pink 
cheeks.  When  health  fails  in  other  and  more  exciting 


80  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

pursuits,  a  season  as  "  help  "  in  one  of  the  Yellowstone 
hotels  will  restore  the  frailest  constitution. 

Then  by  companies  after  tiffin  we  walked  chattering 
to  the  uplands  of  Hell.  They  call  it  the  Norris  Geyser 
Basin  on  Earth.  It  was  as  though  the  tide  of  desolation 
had  gone  out,  but  would  presently  return,  across  innu- 
merable acres  of  dazzling  white  geyser  formation.  There 
were  no  terraces  here,  but  all  other  horrors.  Not  ten 
yards  from  the  road  a  blast  of  steam  shot  up  roaring 
every  few  seconds,  a  mud  volcano  spat  filth  to  Heaven, 
streams  of  hot  water  rumbled  under  foot,  plunged  through 
the  dead  pines  in  steaming  cataracts  and  died  on  a  waste 
of  white  where  green-grey,  black-yellow,  and  link  pools 
roared,  shouted,  bubbled,  or  hissed  as  their  wicked  fan- 
cies prompted.  By  the  look  of  the  eye  the  place  should 
have  been  frozen  over.  By  the  feel  of  the  feet  it  was 
warm.  I  ventured  out  among  the  pools,  carefully  fol- 
lowing tracks,  but  one  unwary  foot  began  to  sink,  a 
squirt  of  water  followed,  and  having  no  desire  to  descend 
quick  into  Tophet  I  returned  to  the  shore  where  the  mud 
and  the  sulphur  and  the  nameless  fat  ooze-vegetation  of 
Lethe  lay.  But  the  very  road  rang  as  though  built  over 
a  gulf ;  and  besides,  how  was  I  to  tell  when  the  raving 
blast  of  steam  would  find  its  vent  insufficient  and  blow 
the  whole  affair  into  Nirvana?  There  was  a  potent 
stench  of  stale  eggs  everywhere,  and  crystals  of  sulphur 
crumbled  under  the  foot,  and  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the 
white  stuff  was  blinding.  Sitting  under  a  bank,  to  me 
appeared  a  young  trooper  —  ex-Cape  mounted  Rifles, 
this  man :  the  real  American  seems  to  object  to  his  army 
—  mounted  on  a  horse  half-maddened  by  the  noise  and 
steam  and  smell.  He  carried  only  the  six-shooter  and 


FEOM   SEA   TO   SEA  81 

cartridge-belt.  On  service  the  Springfield  carbine  (which 
is  clumsy)  and  a  cartridge-belt  slung  diagonally  complete 
equipment.  The  sword  is  no  earthly  use  for  Border 
warfare  and,  except  at  state  parades,  is  never  worn. 
The  saddle  is  the  McClellan  tree  over  a  four-folded 
blanket.  Sweat-leathers  you  must  pay  for  yourself. 
And  the  beauty  of  the  tree  is  that  it  necessitates  first 
very  careful  girthing  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
tricks  with  the  blanket  to  suit  the  varying  conditions 
of  the  horse  —  a  broncho  will  bloat  in  a  night  if  he 
can  get  at  a  bellyful  —  and,  secondly,  even  more  care- 
ful riding  to  prevent  galling.  Crupper  and  breast-band 
do  not  seem  to  be  used,  —  but  they  are  casual  about  their 
accoutrements,  —  and  the  bit  is  the  single,  jaw-breaking 
curb  which  American  war-pictures  show  us.  That  young 
man  was  very  handsome,  and  the  grey  service  hat  —  most 
like  the  under  half  of  a  seedy  terai  —  shaded  his  strong 
face  admirably  as  his  horse  backed  and  shivered  and 
sidled  and  plunged  all  over  the  road,  and  he  lectured 
from  his  saddle,  one  foot  out  of  the  heavy -hooded  stir- 
rup, one  hand  on  the  sweating  neck.  "He's  not  used 
to  the  Park,  this  brute,  and  he's  a  confirmed  bolter 
oil  parade;  but  we  understand  each  other."  IVIioosh! 
went  the  steam -blast  down  the  road  with  a  dry  roar. 
Round  spun  the  troop  horse  prepared  to  bolt,  and,  his 
momentum  being  suddenly  checked,  reared  till  I  thought 
he  would  fall  back  on  his  rider.  "  Oh  no ;  we've  settled 
that  little  matter  when  I  was  breaking  him,"  said  Cen- 
taur. "  He  used  to  try  to  fall  back  on  me.  Isn't  he  a 
devil  ?  I  think  you'd  laugh  to  see  the  way  our  regi- 
ments are  horsed.  Sometimes  a  big  Montana  beast  like 
mine  has  a  thirteen-two  broncho  pony  for  neighbour,  and 

VOL.  II  —  G 


82  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

it's  annoying  if  you're  used  to  better  things.  And  oh, 
how  you  have  to  ride  your  mount !  It's  necessary ;  but 
I  can  tell  you  at  the  end  of  a  long  day's  march,  when 
you'd  give  all  the  world  to  ride  like  a  sack,  it  isn't  sweet 
to  get  extra  drill  for  slouching.  When  we're  turned  out, 
we're  turned  out  for  anything  —  not  a  fifteen-mile  trot, 
but  for  the  use  and  behoof  of  all  the  Northern  States. 
I've  been  in  Arizona.  A  trooper  there  who  had  been 
in  India  told  me  that  Arizona  was  like  Afghanistan. 
There's  nothing  under  Heaven  there  except  horned  toads 
and  rattlesnakes  —  and  Indians.  Our  trouble  is  that  we 
only  deal  with  Indians  and  they  don't  teach  us  much, 
and  of  course  the  citizens  look  down  on  us  and  all  that. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  suppose  we're  really  only  mounted 
infantry,  but  remember  we're  the  best  mounted  infantry 
in  the  world."  And  the  horse  danced  a  fandango  in 
proof. 

"  My  faith ! "  said  I,  looking  at  the  dusty  blouse,  grey 
hat,  soiled  leather  accoutrements,  and  whalebone  poise  of 
the  wearer.  "  If  they  are  all  like  you,  you  are." 

"  Thanks,  whoever  you  may  be.  Of  course  if  we  were 
turned  into  a  lawn-tennis  court  and  told  to  resist,  say, 
your  heavy  cavalry,  we'd  be  ridden  off  the  face  of  the 
earth  if  we  couldn't  get  away.  We  have  neither  the 
weight  nor  the  drill  for  a  charge.  My  horse,  for  in- 
stance, by  English  standards,  is  half-broken,  and  like 
all  the  others,  he  bolts  when  we're  in  line.  But  cavalry 
charge  against  cavalry  charge  doesn't  happen  often,  and 
if  it  did,  well  —  all  our  men  know  that  up  to  a  hun- 
dred yards  they  are  absolutely  safe  behind  this  old 
thing."  He  patted  his  revolver  pouch.  "  Absolutely 
safe  from  any  shooting  of  yours.  What  man  do  you 


FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA  83 

think  would  dare  to  use  a  pistol  at  even  thirty  yards,  if 
his  life  depended  on  it  ?  Not  one  of  your  men.  They 
can't  shoot.  We  can.  You'll  hear  about  that  down  the 
Park  —  further  up." 

Then  he  added,  courteously :  "  Just  now  it  seems  that 
the  English  supply  all  the  men  to  the  American  Army. 
That's  what  makes  them  so  good  perhaps."  And  with 
mutual  expressions  of  good-will  we  parted  —  he  to  an 
outlying  patrol  fifteen  miles  away,  I  to  my  buggy  and 
the  old  lady,  who,  regarding  the  horrors  of  the  fire-holes, 
could  only  say,  "  Good  Lord ! "  at  thirty-second  inter- 
vals. Her  husband  talked  about  "  dreff el  waste  of  steam- 
power,"  and  we  went  on  in  the  clear,  crisp  afternoon, 
speculating  as  to  the  formation  of  geysers. 

"  What  I  say,"  shrieked  the  old  lady  apropos  of  mat- 
ters theological,  "  and  what  I  say  more,  after  having  seen 
all  that,  is  that  the  Lord  has  ordained  a  Hell  for  such  as 
disbelieve  his  gracious  works." 

Nota  bene.  —  Tom  had  profanely  cursed  the  near  mare 
for  stumbling.  He  looked  straight  in  front  of  him  and 
said  no  word,  but  the  left  corner  of  his  left  eye  flickered 
in  my  direction. 

"  And  if,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  if  we  find  a  thing 
so  dreffel  as  all  that  steam  and  sulphur  allowed  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  musn't  we  believe  that  there  is  some- 
thing ten  thousand  times  more  terrible  below  prepared 
untoe  our  destruction  ?  " 

Some  people  have  a  wonderful  knack  of  extracting 
comfort  from  things.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  agreed 
ostentatiously  with  the  old  lady.  She  developed  the 
personal  view  of  the  matter. 

"  Now  I  shall  be  able  to  say  something  to  Anna  Fin- 


84  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

cher  abcmt  her  way  of  living.  Shan't  I,  Blake  ?  "  This 
to  her  husband. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  speaking  slowly  after  a  heavy  tiffin. 
"  But  the  girl's  a  good  girl ; "  and  they  fell  to  arguing  as  to 
whether  the  luckless  Anna  Fincher  really  stood  in  need 
of  lectures  edged  with  Hell  fire  (she  went  to  dances  I 
believe),  while  I  got  out  and  walked  in  the  dust  along- 
side of  Tom. 

"  I  drive  blame  cur'ous  kinder  folk  through  this  place," 
said  he.  "  Blame  cur'ous.  '  Seems  a  pity  that  they 
should  ha'  come  so  far  just  to  liken  Norris  Basin  to 
Hell.  '  Guess  Chicago  would  ha'  served  'em,  speaking 
in  comparison,  jest  as  good." 

We  curved  the  hill  and  entered  a  forest  of  spruce,  the 
path  serpentining  between  the  tree-boles,  the  wheels  run- 
ning silent  on  immemorial  mould.  There  was  nothing 
alive  in  the  forest  save  ourselves.  Only  a  river  was  speak- 
ing angrily  somewhere  to  the  right.  For  miles  we  drove 
till  Tom  bade  us  alight  and  look  at  certain  falls.  Where- 
fore we  stepped  out  of  that  forest  and  nearly  fell  down 
a  cliff  which  guarded  a  tumbled  river  and  returned 
demanding  fresh  miracles.  If  the  water  had  run  uphill, 
we  should  perhaps  have  taken  more  notice  of  it;  but 
'twas  only  a  waterfall,  and  I  really  forget  whether  the 
water  was  warm  or  cold.  There  is  a  stream  here  called 
Firehole  Eiver.  It  is  fed  by  the  overflow  from  the 
various  geysers  and  basins,  —  a  warm  and  deadly  river 
wherein  no  fish  breed.  I  think  we  crossed  it  a  few  dozen 
times  in  the  course  of  a  day. 

Then  the  sun  began  to  sink,  and  there  was  a  taste  of 
frost  about,  and  we  went  swiftly  from  the  forest  into 
the  open,  dashed  across  a  branch  of  the  Firehole  River 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  85 

and  found  a  wood  shanty,  even  rougher  than  the  last, 
at  which,  after  a  forty-mile  drive,  we  were  to  dine  and 
sleep.  Half  a  mile  from  this  place  stood,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Firehole  River,  a  "  beaver-lodge,"  and  there  were 
rumours  of  bears  and  other  cheerful  monsters  in  the 
woods  on  the  hill  at  the  back  of  the  building. 

In  the  cool,  crisp  quiet  of  the  evening  I  sought  that 
river,  and  found  a  pile  of  newly  gnawed  sticks  and  twigs. 
The  beaver  works  with  the  cold-chisel,  and  a  few  clean 
strokes  suffice  to  level  a  four-inch  bole.  Across  the 
water  on  the  far  bank  glimmered,  with  the  ghastly  white 
of  peeled  dead  timber,  the  beaver-lodge  —  a  mass  of 
dishevelled  branches.  The  inhabitants  had  dammed  the 
stream  lower  down  and  spread  it  into  a  nice  little  lake. 
The  question  was  would  they  come  out  for  their  walk 
before  it  got  too  dark  to  see.  They  came — blessings  on 
their  blunt  muzzles,  they  came  —  as  shadows  come, 
drifting  down  the  stream,  stirring  neither  foot  nor  tail. 
There  were  three  of  them.  One  went  down  to  investi- 
gate the  state  of  the  dam ;  the  other  two  began  to  look 
for  supper.  There  is  only  one  thing  more  startling  than 
the  noiselessness  of  a  tiger  in  the  jungle,  and  that  is  the 
noiselessness  of  a  beaver  in  the  water.  The  straining 
ear  could  catch  no  sound  whatever  till  they  began  to  eat 
the  thick  green  river-scudge  that  they  call  beaver-grass. 
I,  bowed  among  the  logs,  held  my  breath  and  stared  with 
all  my  eyes.  They  were  not  ten  yards  from  me,  and 
they  would  have  eaten  their  dinner  in  peace  so  long  as  I 
had  kept  absolutely  still.  They  were  dear  and  desirable 
beasts,  and  I  was  just  preparing  to  creep  a  step  nearer 
when  that  wicked  old  lady  from  Chicago  clattered  down 
the  bank,  an  umbrella  in  her  hand,  shrieking :  "  Beavers, 


86  FKOM  SEA  TO  SEA 

beavers  !  Young  man,  whurr  are  those  beavers  ?  Good 
Lord !  What  was  that  now  ?  " 

The  solitary  watcher  might  have  heard  a  pistol  shot 
ring  through  the  air.  I  wish  it  had  killed  the  old  lady, 
but  it  was  only  the  beaver  giving  warning  of  danger  with 
the  slap  of  his  tail  on  the  water.  It  was  exactly  like  the 
"phink"  of  a  pistol  fired  with  damp  powder.  Then 
there  were  no  more  beavers  —  not  a  whisker-end.  The 
lodge,  however,  was  there,  and  a  beast  lower  than  any 
beaver  began  to  throw  stones  at  it  because  the  old  lady 
from  Chicago  said  :  "  P'raps,  if  you  rattle  them  up  they'll 
come  out.  I  do  so  want  to  see  a  beaver." 

Yet  it  cheers  me  to  think  I  have  seen  the  beaver  in 
his  wilds.  Never  will  I  go  to  the  Zoo.  That  even,  after 
supper — 'twere  flattery  to  call  it  dinner  —  a  Captain  and 
a  Subaltern  of  the  cavalry  post  appeared  at  the  hotel. 
These  were  the  officers  of  whom  the  Mammoth  Springs 
Captain  had  spoken.  The  Lieutenant  had  read  every- 
thing that  he  could  lay  hands  on  about  the  Indian  army, 
especially  our  cavalry  arrangements,  and  was  very  full 
of  a  scheme  for  raising  the  riding  Red  Indians — it  is 
not  every  noble  savage  that  will  make  a  trooper  —  into 
frontier  levies  —  a  sort  of  Khyber  guard.  "Only,"  as 
he  said  ruefully,  "there  is  no  frontier  these  days,  and 
all  our  Indian  wars  are  nearly  over.  Those  beautiful 
beasts  will  die  out,  and  nobody  will  ever  know  what 
splendid  cavalry  they  can  make." 

The  Captain  told  stories  of  Border  warfare  —  of  am- 
bush, firing  on  the  rear-guard,  heat  that  split  the  skull 
better  than  any  tomahawk,  cold  that  wrinkled  the  very 
liver,  night-stampedes  of  baggage-mules,  raiding  of  cattle, 
and  hopeless  stern-chases  into  inhospitable  hills,  when 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  87 

the  cavalry  knew  that  they  were  not  only  being  outpaced 
but  outspied.  Then  he  spoke  of  one  fair  charge  when  a 
tribe  gave  battle  in  the  open  and  the  troopers  rode  in 
swordless,  firing  right  and  left  with  their  revolvers  and 
—  it  was  excessively  uncomfy  for  that  tribe.  And  I 
spoke  of  what  men  had  told  me  of  huntings  in  Burma,  of 
hill-climbing  in  the  Black  Mountain  affair,  and  so  forth. 

"  Exactly  ! "  said  the  Captain.  "  Nobody  knows  and 
nobody  cares.  What  does  it  matter  to  the  Down-Easter 
who  Wrap-up-his-Tail  was  ?  " 

"  And  what  does  the  fat  Briton  know  or  care  about 
Boh  Hla-Oo  ?  "  said  I.  Then  both  together  :  "  Depend 
upon  it,  my  dear  Sir,  the  army  in  both  Anglo-Saxon 
countries  is  a  mischievously  underestimated  institution, 
and  it's  a  pleasure  to  meet  a  man  who,"  etc.,  etc.  And 
we  nodded  triangularly  in  all  good  will,  and  swore  eter- 
nal friendship.  The  Lieutenant  made  a  statement  which 
rather  amazed  me.  He  said  that,  on  account  of  the  scar- 
city of  business,  many  American  officers  were  to  be  found 
getting  practical  instruction  from  little  troubles  among 
the  South  American  Republics.  When  the  need  broke 
out  they  would  return.  "  There  is  so  little  for  us  to  do, 
and  the  Republic  has  a  trick  of  making  us  hedge  and 
ditch  for  our  pay.  A  little  road-making  on  service  is 
not  a  bad  thing,  but  continuous  navvying  is  enough  to 
knock  the  heart  out  of  any  army." 

I  agreed,  and  we  sat  up  till  two  in  the  morning  swap- 
ping the  lies  of  East  and  West.  As  that  glorious  chief 
Man-afraid-of -Pink-Eats  once  said  to  the  Agent  on  the 
Eeservation :  "  'Melican  officer  good  man.  Heap  good 
man.  Drink  me.  Drink  he.  Drink  me.  Drink  he. 
Drink  lie.  Me  blind.  Heap  good  man ! " 


No.  XXXI 

ENDS     WITH     THE     CANON     OF    THE   YELLOWSTONE.         THE 
MAIDEN  FROM  NEW  HAMPSHIRE  —  LARRY  —  "  WRAP-UP- 

HIS-TAIL  " TOM THE    OLD    LADY    FROM    CHICAGO 

AND    A    FEW    NATURAL    PHENOMENA  —  INCLUDING    ONE 
BRITON. 

"  What  man  would  read  and  read  the  selfsame  faces 
And  like  the  marbles  which  the  windmill  grinds, 
Rub  smooth  forever  with  the  same  smooth  minds, 
This  year  retracing  last  year's  every  year's  dull  traces, 
When  there  are  woods  and  umnanstifled  places  ?  ' ' 

—  Lowell. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  carter  who  brought 
his  team  and  a  friend  into  the  Yellowstone  Park  with- 
out due  thought.  Presently  they  came  upon  a  few 
of  the  natural  beauties  of  the  place,  and  that  carter 
turned  his  team  into  his  friend's  team  howling :  "  Get 
back  o'  this,  Jim.  All  Hell's  alight  under  our  noses." 
And  they  call  the  place  Hell's  Half-acre  to  this  day. 
We,  too,  the  old  lady  from  Chicago,  her  husband,  Tom, 
and  the  good  little  mares  came  to  Hell's  Half-acre,  which 
is  about  sixty  acres,  and  when  Tom  said :  "  Would  you 
like  to  drive  over  it  ? "  we  said :  "  Certainly  no,  and  if 
you  do,  we  shall  report  you  to  the  authorities."  There 
was  a  plain,  blistejed  and  peeled  and  abominable,  and  it 
was  given  over  to  the  sportings  and  spoutings  of  devils 
who  threw  mud  and  steam  and  dirt  at  each  other  with 

88 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  89 

whoops  and  halloos  and  bellowing  curses.  The  place  smelt 
of  the  refuse  of  the  Pit,  and  that  odour  mixed  with  the 
clean,  wholesome  aroma  of  the  pines  in  our  nostrils 
throughout  the  day.  Be  it  known  that  the  Park  is  laid 
out,  like  Ollendorf,  in  exercises  of  progressive  difficulty. 
Hell's  Half-acre  was  a  prelude  to  ten  or  twelve  miles  of 
geyser  formation.  We  passed  hot  streams  boiling  in  the 
forest ;  saw  whiffs  of  steam  beyond  these,  and  yet  other 
whiffs  breaking  through  the  misty  green  hills  in  the  far 
distance;  we  trampled  on  sulphur,  and  sniffed  things 
much  worse  than  any  sulphur  which  is  known  to  the 
upper  world ;  and  so  came  upon  a  park-like  place  where 
Torn  suggested  we  should  get  out  and  play  with  the 
geysers. 

Imagine  mighty  green  fields  splattered  with  lime  beds  : 
all  the  flowers  of  the  summer  growing  up  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  lime.  That  was  the  first  glimpse  of  the 
geyser  basins.  The  buggy  had  pulled  up  close  to  a 
rough,  broken,  blistered  cone  of  stuff  between  ten  and 
twenty  feet  high.  There  was  trouble  in  that  place  — 
moaning,  splashing,  gurgling,  and  the  clank  of  machinery. 
A  spurt  of  boiling  water  jumped  into  the  air  and  a  wash 
of  water  followed.  I  removed  swiftly.  The  old  lady 
from  Chicago  shrieked.  "  What  a  wicked  waste !  "  said 
her  husband.  I  think  they  call  it  the  Riverside  Geyser. 
Its  spout  was  torn  and  ragged  like  the  mouth  of  a  gun 
when  a  shell  has  burst  there.  It  grumbled  madly  for  a 
moment  or  two  and  then  was  still.  I  crept  over  the 
steaming  lime — it  was  the  burning  marl  on  which  Satan 
lay  —  and  looked  fearfully  down  its  mouth.  You  should 
never  look  a  gift  geyser  in  the  mouth.  I  beheld  a  hor- 
rible slippery  slimy  funnel  with  water  rising  and  falling 


90  FEOM  SEA  TO  SEA 

ten  feet  at  a  time.  Then  the  water  rose  to  lip  level  with 
a  rush  and  an  infernal  bubbling  troubled  this  Devil's 
Bethesda  before  the  sullen  heave  of  the  crest  of  a  wave 
lapped  over  the  edge  and  made  me  run.  Mark  the 
nature  of  the  human  soul !  I  had  begun  with  awe,  not 
to  say  terror.  I  stepped  back  from  the  flanks  of  the 
Eiverside  Geyser  saying :  "  Pooh  !  Is  that  all  it  can 
do  ?  "  Yet  for  aught  I  knew  the  whole  thing  might  have 
blown  up  at  a  minute's  notice;  she,  he,  or  it  being  an 
arrangement  of  uncertain  temper. 

We  drifted  on  up  that  miraculous  valley.  On  either 
side  of  us  were  hills  from  a  thousand  to  fifteen  feet  high 
and  wooded  from  heel  to  crest.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
range  forward  were  columns  of  steam  in  the  air,  mis- 
shapen lumps  of  lime,  most  like  preadamite  monsters, 
still  pools  of  turquoise  blue,  stretches  of  blue  corn- 
flowers, a  river  that  coiled  on  itself  twenty  times, 
boulders  of  strange  colours,  and  ridges  of  glaring,  star- 
ing white. 

The  old  lady  from  Chicago  poked  with  her  parasol  at 
the  pools  as  though  they  had  been  alive.  On  one  particu- 
larly innocent-looking  little  puddle  she  turned  her  back 
for  a  moment,  and  there  rose  behind  her  a  twenty-foot 
column  of  water  and  steam.  Then  she  shrieked  and  pro- 
tested that  "  she  never  thought  it  would  ha'  done  it,"  and 
the  old  man  chewed  his  tobacco  steadily,  and  mourned 
for  steam  power  wasted.  I  embraced  the  whitened  stump 
of  a  middle-sized  pine  that  had  grown  all  too  close  to  a 
hot  pool's  lip,  and  the  whole  thing  turned  over  under  my 
hand  as  a  tree  would  do  in  a  nightmare.  From  right 
and  left  came  the  trumpetings  of  elephants  at  play.  I 
stepped  into  a  pool  of  old  dried  blood  rimmed  with  the 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  91 

nodding  cornflowers;  the  blood  changed  to  ink  even  as 
I  trod ;  and  ink  and  blood  were  washed  away  in  a  spurt 
of  boiling  sulphurous  water  spat  out  from  the  lee  of  a 
bank  of  flowers.  This  sounds  mad,  doesn't  it  ? 

A  moonfaced  trooper  of  German  extraction  —  never 
was  Park  so  carefully  patrolled  —  came  up  to  inform  us 
that  as  yet  we  had  not  seen  any  of  the  real  geysers,  that 
they  were  all  a  mile  or  so  up  the  valley,  tastefully  scat- 
tered round  the  hotel  in  which  we  would  rest  for  the 
night.  America  is  a  free  country,  but  the  citizens  look 
down  on  the  soldier.  I  had  to  entertain  that  trooper. 
The  old  lady  from  Chicago  would  have  none  of  him ;  so 
we  loafed  along  together,  now  across  half-rotten  pine 
logs  sunk  in  swampy  ground,  anon  over  the  ringing 
geyser  formation,  then  knee-deep  through  long  grass. 

"  And  why  did  you  'list  ?  "  said  I. 

The  moonfaced  one's  face  began  to  work.  I  thought 
he  would  have  a  fit,  but  he  told  me  a  story  instead  — 
such  a  nice  tale  of  a  naughty  little  girl  who  wrote  love 
letters  to  two  men  at  once.  She  was  a  simple  village 
wife,  but  a  wicked  "  Family  Novelette  "  countess  couldn't 
have  accomplished  her  ends  better.  She  drove  one  man 
nearly  wild  with  her  pretty  little  treachery;  and  the 
other  man  abandoned  her  and  came  West  to  forget. 
Moonface  was  that  man.  We  rounded  a  low  spur  of 
hill,  and  came  out  upon  a  field  of  aching  snowy  lime, 
rolled  in  sheets,  twisted  into  knots,  riven  with  rents 
and  diamonds  and  stars,  stretching  for  more  than  half 
a  mile  in  every  direction.  In  this  place  of  despair 
lay  most  of  the  big  geysers  who  know  when  there  is 
trouble  in  Krakatoa,  who  tell  the  pines  when  there  is 
a  cyclone  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  who  —  are  ex- 


92  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

hibited  to  visitors  under  pretty  and  fanciful  names. 
The  first  mound  that  I  encountered  belonged  to  a 
goblin  splashing  in  his  tub.  I  heard  him  kick,  pull  a 
shower-bath  on  his  shoulders,  gasp,  crack  his  joints,  and 
rub  himself  down  with  a  towel ;  then  he  let  the  water 
out  of  the  bath,  as  a  thoughtful  man  should,  and  it  all 
sank  down  out  of  sight  till  another  goblin  arrived.  Yet 
they  called  this  place  the  Lioness  and  the  Cubs.  It  lies 
not  very  far  from  the  Lion,  which  is  a  sullen,  roaring 
beast,  and  they  say  that  when  it  is  very  active  the 
other  geysers  presently  follow  suit.  After  the  Krakatoa 
eruption  all  the  geysers  went  mad  together,  spouting, 
spurting,  and  bellowing  till  men  feared  that  they  would 
rip  up  the  whole  field.  Mysterious  sympathies  exist 
among  them,  and  when  the  Giantess  speaks  (of  her 
more  anon)  they  all  hold  their  peace. 

I  was  watching  a  solitary  spring,  when,  far  across  the 
fields,  stood  up  a  plume  of  spun  glass,  iridescent  and 
superb,  against  the  sky.  "  That,"  said  the  trooper,  "  is 
Old  Faithful.  He  goes  off  every  sixty-five  minutes  to 
the  minute,  plays  for  five  minutes,  and  sends  up  a  column 
of  water  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high.  By  the  time  you 
have  looked  at  all  the  other  geysers  he  will  be  ready  to 
play." 

So  we  looked  and  we  wondered  at  the  Beehive,  whose 
mouth  is  built  up  exactly  like  a  hive;  at  the  Turban 
(which  is  not  in  the  least  like  a  turban) ;  and  at  many, 
many  other  geysers,  hot  holes,  and  springs.  Some  of 
them  rumbled,  some  hissed,  some  went  off  spasmodically, 
and  others  lay  still  in  sheets  of  sapphire  and  beryl. 

Would  you  believe  that  even  these  terrible  creatures 
have  to  be  guarded  by  the  troopers  to  prevent  the  irrever- 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  93 

ent  American  from  chipping  the  cones  to  pieces,  or  worse 
still,  making  the  geysers  sick  ?  If  you  take  of  soft-soap 
a  small  barrelful  and  drop  it  down  a  geyser's  mouth,  that 
geyser  will  presently  be  forced  to  lay  all  before  you  and 
for  days  afterwards  will  be  of  an  irritated  and  inconsis- 
tent stomach.  When  they  told  me  the  tale  I  was  filled 
with  sympathy.  Now  I  wish  that  I  had  stolen  soap  and 
tried  the  experiment  on  some  lonely  little  beast  of  a 
geyser  in  the  woods.  It  sounds  so  probable  —  and  so 
human. 

Yet  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  administer 
emetics  to  the  Giantess.  She  is  flat-lipped,  having  no 
mouth,  she  looks  like  a  pool,  fifty  feet  long  and  thirty 
wide,  and  there  is  no  ornamentation  about  her.  At 
irregular  intervals  she  speaks,  and  sends  up  a  column  of 
water  over  two  hundred  feet  high  to  begin  with ;  then  she 
is  angry  for  a  day  and  a  half  —  sometimes  for  two  days. 
Owing  to  her  peculiarity  of  going  mad  in  the  night  not 
many  people  have  seen  the  Giantess  at  her  finest;  but 
the  clamour  of  her  unrest,  men  say,  shakes  the  wooden 
hotel,  and  echoes  like  thunder  among  the  hills.  When  I 
saw  her  trouble  was  brewing.  The  pool  bubbled  seri- 
ously, and  at  five-minute  intervals,  sank  a  foot  or  two, 
then  rose,  washed  over  the  rim,  and  huge  steam  bubbles 
broke  on  the  top.  Just  before  an  eruption  the  water 
entirely  disappears  from  view.  Whenever  you  see  the 
water  die  down  in  a  geyser-mouth  get  away  as  fast  as 
you  can.  I  saw  a  tiny  little  geyser  suck  in  its  breath 
in  this  way,  and  instinct  made  me  retire  while  it  hooted 
after  me. 

Leaving  the  Giantess  to  swear,  and  spit,  and  thresh 
about,  we  went  over  to  Old  Faithful,  who  by  reason  of 


94  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

his  faithfulness  has  benches  close  to  him  whence  you 
may  comfortably  watch.  At  the  appointed  hour  we 
heard  the  water  flying  up  and  down  the  mouth  with  the 
sob  of  waves  in  a  cave.  Then  came  the  preliminary 
gouts,  then  a  roar  and  a  rush,  and  that  glittering  col- 
umn of  diamonds  rose,  quivered,  stood  still  for  a  minute. 
Then  it  broke,  and  the  rest  was  a  confused  snarl  of 
water  not  thirty  feet  high.  All  the  young  ladies  —  not 
more  than  twenty  —  in  the  tourist  band  remarked  that 
it  was  "elegant,"  and  betook  themselves  to  writing  their 
names  in  the  bottoms  of  shallow  pools.  Nature  fixes 
the  insult  indelibly,  and  the  after-years  will  learn  that 
"Hattie,"  "Sadie,"  "Mamie,"  "Sophie,"  and  so  forth, 
have  taken  out  their  hair-pins,  and  scrawled  in  the  face 
of  Old  Faithful. 

The  congregation  returned  to  the  hotel  to  put  down 
their  impressions  in  diaries  and  note-books  which  they 
wrote  up  ostentatiously  in  the  verandahs.  It  was  a 
sweltering  hot  day,  albeit  we  stood  somewhat  higher 
than  the  summit  of  Jakko,  and  I  left  that  raw  pine- 
creaking  caravanserai  for  the  cool  shade  of  a  clump  of 
pines  between  whose  trunks  glimmered  tents.  A  batch 
of  troopers  came  down  the  road,  and  flung  themselves 
across  country  into  their  rough  lines.  Verily  the  'Meli- 
can  cavalry-man  can  ride,  though  he  keeps  his  accoutre- 
ments pig,  and  his  horse  cow-fashion. 

I  was  free  of  that  camp  in  five  minutes  —  free  to  play 
with  the  heavy  lumpy  carbines,  to  have  the  saddles 
stripped,  and  punch  the  horses  knowingly  in  the  ribs. 
One  of  the  men  had  been  in  the  fight  with  "Wrap-up- 
his-Tail "  before  alluded  to,  and  he  told  me  how  that  great 
chief,  his  horse's  tail  tied  up  in  red  calico,  swaggered 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  95 

in  front  of  the  United  States  cavalry,  challenging  all 
to  single  combat.  But  he  was  slain,  and  a  few  of  his 
tribe  with  him.  "  There's  no  use  in  an  Indian,  anyway," 
concluded  my  friend. 

A  couple  of  cowboys  —  real  cowboys,  not  the  Buffalo 
Bill  article  —  jingled  through  the  camp  amid  a  shower 
of  mild  chaff.  They  were  on  their  way  to  Cook  City,  I 
fancy,  and  I  know  that  they  never  washed.  But  they 
were  picturesque  ruffians  with  long  spurs,  hooded  stir- 
rups, slouch  hats,  fur  weather-cloths  over  their  knees, 
and  pistol-butts  easy  to  hand. 

"The  cowboy's  goin'  under  before  long,"  said  my 
friend.  "  Soon  as  the  country's  settled  up  he'll  have  to 
go.  But  he's  mighty  useful  now.  What  should  we  do 
without  the  cowboy  ?  " 

"  As  how  ?  "  said  I,  and  the  camp  laughed. 

"  He  has  the  money.  We  have  the  know-how.  He 
comes  in  in  winter  to  play  poker  at  the  military  posts. 
We  play  poker  —  a  few.  When  he's  lost  his  money  we 
make  him  drunk  and  let  him  go.  Sometimes  we  get  the 
wrong  man."  And  he  told  a  tale  of  an  innocent  cowboy 
who  turned  up,  cleaned  out,  at  a  post,  and  played  poker 
for  thirty-six  hours.  But  it  was  the  post  that  was 
cleaned  out  when  that  long-haired  Caucasian  Ah  Sin 
removed  himself,  heavy  with  everybody's  pay,  and  de- 
clining the  proffered  liquor.  "  Naow,"  said  the  his- 
torian, "  I  don't  play  with  no  cowboy  unless  he's  a  little 
bit  drunk  first." 

Ere  I  departed  I  gathered  from  more  than  one  man 
that  significant  fact  that  up  to  one  hundred  yards  he  felt 
absolutely  secure  behind  his  revolver. 

"In  England,  I  understand,"  quoth  a  limber  youth 


96  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

from  the  South,  "  in  England  a  man  aren't  allowed  to 
play  with  no  firearms.  He's  got  to  be  taught  all  that 
when  he  enlists.  I  didn't  want  much  teaching  how  to 
shoot  straight  'fore  I  served  Uncle  Sam.  And  that's 
just  where  it  is.  But  you  was  talking  about  your 
horse  guards  now  ?  " 

I  explained  briefly  some  peculiarities  of  equipment 
connected  with  our  crackest  crack  cavalry.  I  grieve  to 
say  the  camp  roared. 

"  Take  'em  over  swainpy  ground.  Let  'em  run  around 
a  bit  an'  work  the  starch  out  of  'em,  an'  then,  Almighty, 
if  we  wouldn't  plug  'em  at  ease  I'd  eat  their  horses ! " 

"  But  suppose  they  engaged  in  the  open  ?  "  said  I. 

"Engage  the  Hades.  Not  if  there  was  a  tree-trunk 
within  twenty  miles  they  couldn't  engage  in  the  open  ! " 

Gentlemen,  the  officers,  have  you  ever  seriously  con- 
sidered the  existence  on  earth  of  a  cavalry  who  by 
preference  would  fight  in  timber  ?  The  evident  sin- 
cerity of  the  proposition  made  me  think  hard  as  I*  moved 
over  to  the  hotel  and  joined  a  party  exploration,  which, 
diving  into  the  woods,  unearthed  a  pit  pool  of  burn- 
ingest  water  fringed  with  jet  black  sand  —  all  the  ground 
near  by  being  pure  white.  But  miracles  pall  when  they 
arrive  at  the  rate  of  twenty  a  day.  A  flaming  dragon- 
fly flew  over  the  pool,  reeled  and  dropped  on  the  water, 
dying  without  a  quiver  of  his  gorgeous  wings,  and  the 
pool  said  nothing  whatever,  but  sent  its  thin  steam 
wreaths  up  to  the  burning  sky.  I  prefer  pools  that 
talk. 

There  was  a  maiden  —  a  very  trim  maiden  —  who  had 
just  stepped  out  of  one  of  Mr.  James's  novels.  She 
owned  a  delightful  mother  and  an  equally  delightful 


97 

father,  a  heavy-eyed,  slow-voiced  man  of  finance.  The 
parents  thought  that  their  daughter  wanted  change. 
She  lived  in  New  Hampshire.  Accordingly,  she  had 
dragged  them  up  to  Alaska,  to  the  Yosemite  Valley,  and 
was  now  returning  leisurely  via  the  Yellowstone  just  in 
time  for  the  tail-end  of  the  summer  season  at  Saratoga. 
We  had  met  once  or  twice  before  in  the  Park,  and  I  had 
been  amazed  and  amused  at  her  critical  commendation  of 
the  wonders  that  she  saw.  From  that  very  resolute  little 
mouth  I  received  a  lecture  on  American  literature,  the 
nature  and  inwardness  of  Washington  society,  the  pre- 
cise value  of  Cable's  works  as  compared  with  "  Uncle 
Remus  "  Harris,  and  a  few  other  things  that  had  nothing- 
whatever  to  do  with  geysers,  but  were  altogether  delight- 
ful. Now  an  English  maiden  who  had  stumbled  on  a 
dust-grimed,  lime-washed,  sun-peeled,  collarless  wanderer 
come  from  and  going  to  goodness  knows  where,  would, 
her  mother  inciting  her  and  her  father  brandishing  his 
umbrella,  have  regarded  him  as  a  dissolute  adventurer. 
Not  so  those  delightful  people  from  New  Hampshire. 
They  were  good  enough  to  treat  me  —  it  sounds  almost 
incredible  —  as  a  human  being,  possibly  respectable, 
probably  not  in  immediate  need  of  financial  assistance. 
Papa  talked  pleasantly  and  to  the  point.  The  little 
maiden  strove  valiantly  with  the  accent  of  her  birth 
and  that  of  her  reading,  and  mamma  smiled  benignly 
in  the  background. 

Balance  this  with  a  story  of  a  young  English  idiot  I 
met  knocking  about  inside  his  high  collars,  attended  by  a 
valet.  He  condescended  to  tell  me  that  "you  can't  be 
too  careful  who  you  talk  to  in  these  parts,"  and  stalked 
on,  fearing,  I  suppose,  every  minute  for  his  social  chas- 

VOL.  II  —  H 


98  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

tity.  Now  that  man  was  a  barbarian  (I  took  occasion  to 
tell  him  so),  for  he  comported  himself  after  the  manner 
of  the  head-hunters  of  Assam,  who  are  at  perpetual  feud 
one  with  another. 

You  will  understand  that  these  foolish  tales  are 
introduced  in  order  to  cover  the  fact  that  this  pen  can- 
not describe  the  glories  of  the  Upper  Geyser  basin.  The 
evening  I  spent  under  the  lee  of  the  Castle  Geyser  sitting 
on  a  log  with  some  troopers  and  watching  a  baronial 
keep  forty  feet  high  spouting  hot  water.  If  the  Castle 
went  off  first,  they  said  the  Giantess  would  be  quiet,  and 
vice  versa;  and  then  they  told  tales  till  the  moon  got  up 
and  a  party  of  campers  in  the  woods  gave  us  all  some- 
thing to  eat. 

Next  morning  Tom  drove  us  on,  promising  new  won- 
ders. He  pulled  up  after  a  few  miles  at  a  clump  of 
brushwood  where  an  army  was  drowning.  I  could  hear 
the  .sick  gasps  and  thumps  of  the  men  going  under,  but 
when  I  broke  through  the  brushwood  the  hosts  had  fled, 
and  there  were  only  pools  of  pink,  black,  and  white 
lime,  thick  as  turbid  honey.  They  shot  up  a  pat  of  mud 
every  minute  or  two,  choking  in  the  effort.  It  was  an 
uncanny  sight.  Do  you  wonder  that  in  the  old  days  the 
Indians  were  careful  to  avoid  the  Yellowstone  ?  Geysers 
are  permissible,  but  nrnd  is  terrifying.  The  old  lady 
from  Chicago  took  a  piece  of  it,  and  in  half  an  hour  it 
died  into  lime-dust  and  blew  away  between  her  fingers. 
All  maya,  —  illusion,  —  you  see !  Then  we  clinked  over 
sulphur  in  crystals;  there  was  a  waterfall  of  boiling 
water;  and  a  road  across  a  level  park  hotly  contested 
by  the  beavers.  Every  winter  they  build  their  dam 
and  flood  the  low-lying  land;  every  summer  that  dam 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  99 

is  torn  up  by  the  Government,  and  for  half  a  mile  you 
must  plough  axle-deep  in  water,  the  willows  brushing 
into  the  buggy,  and  little  waterways  branching  off  right 
and  left.  The  road  is  the  main  stream  —  just  like  the 
Bolan  line  in  flood.  If  you  turn  up  a  byway,  there  is 
no  more  of  you,  and  the  beavers  work  your  buggy  into 
next  year's  dam. 

Then  came  soft,  turfy  forest  that  deadened  the  wheels, 
and  two  troopers  —  on  detachment  duty  —  came  noise- 
lessly behind  us.  One  was  the  Wrap-up-his-Tail  man, 
and  we  talked  merrily  while  the  half-broken  horses 
bucked  about  among  the  trees  till  we  came  to  a  mighty 
hill  all  strewn  with  moss  agates,  and  everybody  had  to 
get  out  and  pant  in  that  thin  air.  But  how  intoxicating 
it  was !  The  old  lady  from  Chicago  clucked  like  an 
emancipated  hen  as  she  scuttled  about  the  road  cram- 
ming pieces  of  rock  into  her  reticule.  She  sent  me  fifty 
yards  down  the  hill  to  pick  up  a  piece  of  broken  bottle 
which  she  insisted  was  moss  agate.  "I've  some  o'  that 
at  home  an'  they  shine.  You  go  get  it,  young  feller." 

As  we  climbed  the  long  path  the  road  grew  viler  and 
viler  till  it  became  without  disguise  the  bed  of  a  torrent ; 
and  just  when  things  were  at  their  rockiest  we  emerged 
into  a  little  sapphire  lake  —  but  never  sapphire  was  so 
blue  —  called  Mary's  Lake;  and  that  between  eight  and 
nine  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  Then  came  grass 
downs,  all  on  a  vehement  slope,  so  that  the  buggy  follow- 
ing the  new-made  road  ran  on  to  the  two  off-wheels 
mostly,  till  we  dipped  head-first  into  a  ford,  climbed 
up  a  cliff,  raced  along  a  down,  dipped  again  and  pulled 
up  dishevelled  at  "  Larry's "  for  hinch  and  an  hour's 
rest.  Only  "  Larry  "  could  have  managed  that  school- 


100  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

feast  tent  on  the  lonely  hillside.  Need  I  say  that  he 
was  an  Irishman  ?  His  supplies  were  at  their  lowest 
ebb,  but  Larry  enveloped  us  all  in  the  golden  glamour 
of  his  speech  ere  we  had  descended,  and  the  tent  with 
the  rude  trestle-table  became  a  palace,  the  rough  fare, 
delicacies  of  Delmonico,  and  we,  the  abashed  recipients  of 
Larry's  imperial  bounty.  It  was  only  later  that  I  dis- 
covered I  had  paid  eight  shillings  for  tinned  beef,  biscuits, 
and  beer,  but  on  the  other  hand  Larry  had  said  :  "  Will 
I  go  out  an'  kill  a  buffalo  ?  "  And  I  felt  that  for  me  and 
for  me  alone  would  he  have  done  it.  Everybody  else 
felt  that  way.  Good  luck  go  with  Larry  ! 

"  An'  now  you'll  all  go  an'  wash  your  pocket-handker- 
chiefs in  that  beautiful  hot  spring  round  the  corner," 
said  he.  "  There's  soap  an'  a  washboard  ready,  an'  'tis 
not  every  day  that  ye  can  get  hot  water  for  nothing." 
He  waved  us  large-handedly  to  the  open  downs  while 
he  put  the  tent  to  rights.  There  Avas  no  sense  of 
fatigue  on  the  body  or  distance  in  the  air.  Hill  and 
dale  rode  on  the  eyeball.  I  could  have  clutched  the  far- 
off  snowy  peaks  by  putting  out  my  hand.  Never  was 
such  maddening  air.  Why  we  should  have  washed 
pocket-handkerchiefs  Larry  alone  knows.  It  appeared 
to  be  a  sort  of  religious  rite.  In  a  little  valley  over- 
hung with  gay  painted  rocks  ran  a  stream  of  velvet 
brown  and  pink.  It  was  hot  —  hotter  than  the  hand 
could  bear  —  and  it  coloured  the  boulders  in  its  course. 

There  was  the  maiden  from  New  Hampshire,  the  old 
lady  from  Chicago,  papa,  mamma,  the  woman  who  chewed 
gum,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  gravely  bending  over  a 
washboard  and  soap.  Mysterious  virtues  lay  in  that 
queer  stream.  It  turned  the  linen  white  as  driven  snow 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  101 

in  five  minutes,  and  then  we  lay  on  the  grass  and  laughed 
with  sheer  bliss  of  being  alive.  This  have  I  known  once 
in  Japan,  once  on  the  banks  of  the  Columbia,  what  time 
the  salmon  came  in  and  "  California  "  howled,  and  once 
again  in  the  Yellowstone  by  the  light  of  the  eyes  of  the 
maiden  from  New  Hampshire.  Four  little  pools  lay  at  my 
elbow :  one  was  of  black  water  (tepid),  one  clear  water 
(cold),  one  clear  water  (hot),  one  red  water  (boiling) ; 
my  newly  washed  handkerchief  covered  them  all.  We 
marvelled  as  children  marvel. 

"  This  evening  we  shall  do  the  grand  canon  of  the 
Yellowstone?"  said  the  maiden. 

"  Together  ?  "  said  I ;  and  she  said  yes. 

The  sun  was  sinking  when  we  heard  the  roar  of 
falling  waters  and  came  to  a  broad  river  along  whose 
banks  we  ran.  And  then  —  oh,  then !  I  might  at 
a  pinch  describe  the  infernal  regions,  but  not  the  other 
place.  Be  it  known  to  you  that  the  Yellowstone  Eiver 
has  occasion  to  run  through  a  gorge  about  eight  miles 
long.  To  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  it  makes  two 
leaps,  one  of  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  and  the 
other  of  three  hundred  feet.  I  investigated  the  upper  or 
lesser  fall,  which  is  close  to  the  hotel.  Up  to  that  time 
nothing  particular  happens  to  the  Yellowstone,  its  banks 
being  only  rocky,  rather  steep,  -and  plentifully  adorned 
with  pines.  At  the  falls  it  comes  round  a  corner,  green, 
solid,  ribbed  with  a  little  foam  and  not  more  than  thirty 
yards  wide.  Then  it  goes  over  still  green  and  rather 
more  solid  than  before.  After  a  minute  or  two  you, 
sitting  upon  a  rock  directly  above  the  drop,  begin  to 
understand  that  something  has  occurred ;  that  the  river 
has  jumped  a  huge  distance  between  solid  cliff  walls  and 


102  FEOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

what  looks  like  the  gentle  froth  of  ripples  lapping  the 
sides  of  the  gorge  below  is  really  the  outcome  of  great 
waves.  And  the  river  yells  aloud ;  but  the  cliffs  do  not 
allow  the  yells  to  escape. 

That  inspection  began  with  curiosity  and  finished  in 
terror,  for  it  seemed  that  the  whole  world  was  sliding 
in  chrysolite  from  under  my  feet.  I  followed  with  the 
others  round  the  corner  to  arrive  at  the  brink  of  the 
canon :  we  had  to  climb  up  a  nearly  perpendicular 
ascent  to  begin  with,  for  the  ground  rises  more  than 
the  river  drops.  Stately  pine  woods  fringe  either  lip 
of  the  gorge,  which  is  —  the  Gorge  of  the  Yellowstone. 

All  I  can  say  is  that  without  warning  or  preparation 
I  looked  into  a  gulf  seventeen  hundred  feet  deep  with 
eagles  and  fish-hawks  circling  far  below.  And  the  sides 
of  that  gulf  were  one  wild  welter  of  colour  —  crimson, 
emerald,  cobalt,  ochre,  amber,  honey  splashed  with  port- 
wine,  snow-white,  vermilion,  lemon,  and  silver-grey,  in 
wide  washes.  The  sides  did  not  fall  sheer,  but  were 
graven  by  time  and  water  and  air  into  monstrous  heads 
of  kings,  dead  chiefs,  men  and  women  of  the  old  time. 
So  far  below  that  no  sound  of  its  strife  could  reach  us, 
the  Yellowstone  River  ran  —  a  finger-wide  strip  of  jade- 
green.  The  sunlight  took  those  wondrous  walls  and 
gave  fresh  hues  to  those  that  nature  had  already  laid 
there.  Once  I  saw  the  dawn  break  over  a  lake  in  Eaj- 
putana  and  the  sun  set  over  the  Oodey  Sagar  amid  a 
circle  of  Holman  Hunt  hills.  This  time  I  was  watch- 
ing both  performances  going  on  below  me  —  upside  down 
you  understand  —  and  the  colours  were  real !  The  canon 
was  burning  like  Troy  town ;  but  it  would  burn  for  ever, 
and,  thank  goodness,  neither  pen  nor  brush  could  ever 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  103 

portray  its  splendours  adequately.  The  Academy  would 
reject  the  picture  for  a  chromolithograph.  The  public 
would  scoff  at  the  letter-press  for  Daily  Telegraphese. 
"  I  will  leave  this  thing  alone,"  said  I ;  "  'tis  my  peculiar 
property.  Nobody  else  shall  share  it  with  me."  Even- 
ing crept  through  the  pines  that  shadowed  us,  but  the 
full  glory  of  the  day  flamed  in  that  canon  as  we  went 
out  very  cautiously  to  a  jutting  piece  of  rock  —  blood- 
red  or  pink  it  was  —  that  overhung  the  deepest  deeps 
of  all.  Now  I  know  what  it  is  to  sit  enthroned  amid 
the  clouds  of  sunset.  Giddiness  took  away  all  sensation 
of  touch  or  form ;  but  the  sense  of  blinding  colour  re- 
mained. When  I  reached  the  mainland  again  I  had 
sworn  that  I  had  been  floating.  The  maid  from  New 
Hampshire  said  no  word  for  a  very  long  time.  She  then 
quoted  poetry,  which  was  perhaps  the  best  thing  she 
could  have  done. 

"  And  to  think  that  this  show-place  has  been  going  on 
all  these  days  an'  none  of  we  ever  saw  it,"  said  the  old 
lady  from  Chicago,  with  an  acid  glance  at  her  husband. 

"No,  only  the  Injuns,"  said  he,  unmoved;  and  the 
maiden  and  I  laughed  long.  Inspiration  is  fleeting, 
beauty  is  vain,  and  the  power  of  the  mind  for  wonder 
limited.  Though  the  shining  hosts  themselves  had  risen 
choiring  from  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  they  would  not 
have  prevented  her  papa  and  one  baser  than  himself 
from  rolling  stones  down  those  stupendous  rainbow- 
washed  slides.  Seventeen  hundred  feet  of  steepest 
pitch  and  rather  more  than  seventeen  hundred  colours 
for  log  or  boulder  to  whirl  through !  So  we  heaved 
things  and  saw  them  gather  way  and  bound  from  white 
rock  to  red  or  yellow,  dragging  behind  them  torrents  of 


104  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

colour,  till  the  noise  of  their  descent  ceased  and  they 
bounded  a  hundred  yards  clear  at  the  last  into  the 
Yellowstone. 

"  I've  been  down  there,"  said  Tom  that  evening.  "  It's 
easy  to  get  down  if  you're  careful  —  just  sit  and  slide; 
but  getting  up  is  worse.  An'  I  found,  down  below  there, 
two  rocks  just  marked  with  a  pictur  of  the  canon.  I 
wouldn't  sell  those  rocks  not  for  fifteen  dollars." 

And  papa  and  I  crawled  down  to  the  Yellowstone  — 
just  above  the  first  little  fall  —  to  wet  a  line  for  good 
luck.  The  round  moon  carne  up  and  turned  the  cliffs 
and  pines  into  silver;  a  two-pound  trout  came  up  also, 
and  we  slew  him  among  the  rocks,  nearly  tumbling  into 
that  wild  river. 


Then  out  and  away  to  Livingstone  once  more.  The 
maiden  from  New  Hampshire  disappeared;  papa  and 
mamma  with  her  disappeared.  Disappeared,  too,  the 
old  lady  from  Chicago  and  all  the  rest,  while  I  thought 
of  all  that  I  had  not  seen  —  the  forest  of  petrified  trees 
with  amethyst  crystals  in  their  black  hearts;  the  great 
Yellowstone  Lake  where  you  catch  your  trout  alive  in 
one  spring  and  drop  him  into  another  to  boil  him;  and 
most  of  all  of  that  mysterious  Hoodoo  region  where  all 
the  devils  not  employed  in  the  geysers  live  and  kill  the 
wandering  bear  and  elk,  so  that  the  scared  hunter  finds 
in  Death  Gulch  piled  carcasses  of  the  dead  whom  no  man 
has  smitten.  Hoodoo-land  with  the  overhead  noises, 
the  bird  and  beast  and  devil-rocks,  the  mazes  and  the 
bottomless  pits,  —  all  these  things  I  missed.  On  the  re- 
turn road  Yankee  Jim  and  Diana  of  the  Crossways  gave 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  105 

me  kindly  greeting  as  the  train  paused  an  instant  before 
their  door,  and  at  Livingstone  whom  should  I  see  but 
Tom  the  driver? 

"  I've  done  with  the  Yellowstone  and  decided  to  clear 
out  East  somewheres,"  said  he.  "Your  talkin'  about 
movin'  round  so  gay  an'  careless  made  me  kinder  rest- 
less ;  I'm  movin'  out." 

Lord  f orgie  us  for  our  responsibility  one  to  another ! 

"  And  your  partner  ?  "  said  I. 

"Here's  him,"  said  Tom,  introducing  a  gawky  youth 
with  a  bundle ;  and  I  saw  those  two  young  men  turn 
their  faces  to  the  East. 


No.  XXXII 

OF  THE  AMERICAN  ARMY  AND  THE  CITY  OF  THE 
SAINTS.  THE  TEMPLE,  THE  UOOK  OF  MORMON,  AND 
THE  GIRL  FROM  DORSET.  AN  ORIENTAL  CONSIDERA- 
TION OF  POLYGAMY. 

"A  fool  also  is  full  of  words  :  a  man  cannot  tell  what  shall  be  ; 
and  what  shall  be  after  him  who  can  tell  ?  " 

IT  has  just  occurred  to  me  with  great  force  that  de- 
lightful as  these  letters  are  to  myself  their  length  and 
breadth  and  depth  may  be  just  the  least  little  bit  in  the 
world  wearisome  to  you  over  there.  I  will  compress 
myself  rigorously,  though  I  should  very  much  like  to 
deliver  a  dissertation  on  the  American  Army  and  the 
possibilities  of  its  extension. 

The  American  army  is  a  beautiful  little  army.  Some 
day,  when  all  the  Indians  are  happily  dead  or  drunk,  it 
ought  to  make  the  finest  scientific  and  survey  corps  that 
the  world  has  ever  seen.  It  does  excellent  work  now,  but 
there  is  this  defect  in  its  nature :  it  is  officered,  as  you 
know,  from  West  Point,  but  the  mischief  of  it  is  that 
West  Point  seems  to  be  created  for  the  purpose  of 
spreading  a  general  knowledge  of  military  matters 
among  the  people.  A  boy  goes  up  to  that  institution, 
gets  his  pass,  and  returns  to  civil  life,  so  they  tell 
me,  with  a  dangerous  knowledge  that  he  is  a  sucking 
Moltke,  and  may  apply  his  learning  when  occasion  offers. 
Given  trouble,  that  man  will  be  a  nuisance,  because  he 

106 


PROM   SEA  TO   SEA  107 

\ 

is  a  hideously  versatile  American  to  begin  with,  as  cock 
sure  of  himself  as  a  man  can  be,  and  with  all  the  racial 
disregard  for  human  life  to  back  him  through  his  demi- 
semi-professional  generalship.  In  a  country  where,  as 
the  records  of  the  daily  papers  show,  men  engaged  in  a 
conflict  with  police  or  jails  are  all  too  ready  to  adopt  a 
military  formation,  and  get  heavily  shot  in  a  sort  of 
cheap,  half-instructed  warfare  instead  of  being  decently 
scared  by  the  appearance  of  the  military,  this  sort  of 
arrangement  does  not  seem  wise.  The  bond  between 
the  States  is  of  amazing  tenuity.  So  long  as  they  do 
not  absolutely  march  into  the  District  of  Columbia,  sit 
on  the  Washington  statues,  and  invent  a  flag  of  their 
own,  they  can  legislate,  lynch,  hunt  negroes  through 
swamps,  divorce,  railroad,  and  rampage  as  much  as 
ever  they  choose.  They  do  not  need  knowledge  of 
their  own  military  strength  to  back  their  genial  law- 
lessness. That  Eegular  Army,  which  is  a  dear  little 
army,  should  be  kept  to  itself,  blooded  on  detachment 
duty,  turned  into  the  paths  of  science,  and  now  and 
again  assembled  at  feasts  of  Freemasons  and  so  forth. 
It's  too  tiny  to  be  a  political  power.  The  immortal 
wreck  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  is  a  political 
power  of  the  largest  and  most  unblushing  description. 
It  ought  not  to  help  to  lay  the  foundations  of  an  amateur 
military  power  that  is  blind  and  irresponsible.  .  .  . 

Be  thankful  that  the  balance  of  this  lecture  is  sup- 
pressed, and  with  it  the  account  of  a  "  shiveree "  which 
I  attended  in  Livingstone  City :  and  the  story  of  the  edi- 
tor and  the  sub-editor  (the  latter  was  a  pet  cougar,  or 
mountain  lion,  who  used,  they  said,  skilfully  to  sub-edit 
disputants  in  the  office)  of  the  Livingstone  daily  paper. 


108  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

Omitting  a  thousand  matters  of  first  importance,  let 
me  pick  up  the  thread  of  things  on  a  narrow-gauge  line 
that  took  me  down  to  Salt  Lake.  The  run  between 
Delhi  and  Ahmedabad  on  a  May  day  would  have  been 
bliss  compared  to  this  torture.  There  was  nothing  but 
glare  and  desert  and  alkali  dust.  There  was  no  smok- 
ing-accommodation.  I  sat  in  the  lavatory  with  the 
conductor  and  a  prospector  who  told  stories  about 
Indian  atrocities  in  the  voice  of  a  dreaming  child  — 
oath  following  oath  as  smoothly  as  clotted  cream  laps 
the  mouth  of  the  jug.  I  don't  think  he  knew  he  was 
saying  anything  out  of  the  way,  but  nine  or  ten  of  those 
oaths  were  new  to  me,  and  one  even  made  the  conductor 
raise  his  eyebrows. 

"And  when  a  man's  alone  mostly,  leadin'  his  horse 
across  the  hills,  he  gets  to  talk  aloud  to  himself  as  it 
was,"  said  the  weather-worn  retailer  of  tortures.  A 
vision  rose  before  me  of  this  man  trampling  the  Ban- 
nack  City  trail  under  the  stars  —  swearing,  always 
swearing. 

Bundles  of  rags  that  were  pointed  out  as  Red  Indians, 
boarded  the  train  from  time  to  time.  Their  race  privi- 
leges allow  them  free  transit  on  the  platforms  of  the 
cars.  They  mustn't  come  inside  of  course,  and  equally 
of  course  the  train  never  thinks  of  pulling  up  for  them. 
I  saw  a  squaw  take  us  flying  and  leave  us  in  the  same 
manner  when  we  were  spinning  round  a  curve.  Like 
the  Punjabi,  the  Red  Indian  gets  out  by  preference  on 
the  trackless  plain  and  walks  stolidly  to  the  horizon. 
He  never  says  where  he  is  going.  .  .  . 

Salt  Lake.  I  am  concerned  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Phil 
Robinson,  his  soul.  You  will  remember  that  he  wrote 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  109 

a  book  called  Saints  and  Sinners  in  which  he  proved  very 
prettily  that  the  Mormon  was  almost  altogether  an  esti- 
mable person.  Ever  since  my  arrival  at  Salt  Lake 
I  have  been  wondering  what  made  him  write  that  book. 
On  mature  reflection,  and  after  a  long  walk  round  the 
city,  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  was  the  sun,  which  is  very 
powerful  hereabouts. 

By  great  good  luck  the  evil-minded  train,  already 
delayed  twelve  hours  by  a  burnt  bridge,  brought  me 
to  the  city  on  a  Saturday  by  way  of  that  valley  which 
the  Mormons  aver  their  efforts  had  caused  to  blossom 
like  the  rose.  Some  hours  previously  I  had  entered 
a  new  world  where,  in  conversation,  every  one  was 
either  a  Mormon  or  a  Gentile.  It  is  not  seemly  for  a 
free  and  independent  citizen  to  dub  himself  a  Gentile, 
but  the  Mayor  of  Ogden  —  which  is  the  Gentile  city  of 
the  valley  —  told  me  that  there  must  be  some  distinc- 
tion between  the  two  flocks.  Long  before  the  fruit 
orchards  of  Logan  or  the  shining  levels  of  the  Salt  Lake 
had  been  reached  that  Mayor  —  himself  a  Gentile,  and 
one  renowned  for  his  dealings  with  the  Mormons  —  told 
me  that  the  great  question  of  the  existence  of  the  power 
within  the  power  was  being  gradually  solved  by  the 
ballot  and  by  education.  "  We  have,"  quoth  he,  "  hills 
round  and  about  here,  stuffed  full  of  silver  and  gold  and 
lead,  and  all  Hell  atop  of  the  Mormon  church  can't  keep 
the  Gentile  from  flocking  in  when  that's  the  case.  At 
Ogden,  thirty  miles  from  Salt  Lake,  this  year  the  Gen- 
tile vote  swamped  the  Mormon  at  the  Municipal  elec- 
tions, and  next  year  we  trust  that  we  shall  be  able  to 
repeat  our  success  in  Salt  Lake  itself.  In  that  city 
the  Gentiles  are  only  one-third  of  the  total  population, 


110  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

but  the  mass  of  'em  are  grown  men,  capable  of  voting. 
Whereas  the  Mormons  are  cluttered  up  with  children. 
I  guess  as  soon  as  we  have  purely  Gentile  officers  in 
the  township,  and  the  control  of  the  policy  of  the  city, 
the  Mormons  will  have  to  back  down  considerable. 
They're  bound  to  go  before  long.  My  own  notion  is 
that  it's  the  older  men  who  keep  alive  the  opposition 
to  the  Gentile  and  all  his  works.  The  younger 
ones,  spite  of  all  the  elders  tell  'em,  will  mix  with 
the  Gentile,  and  read  Gentile  books,  and  you  bet  your 
sweet  life  there's  a  holy  influence  working  toward  con- 
version in  the  kiss  of  an  average  Gentile  —  specially 
when  the  girl  knows  that  he  won't  think  it  necessary 
for  her  salvation  to  load  the  house  up  with  other 
woman-folk.  I  guess  'the  younger  generation  are  giv- 
ing sore  trouble  to  the  elders.  What's  that  you  say 
about  polygamy?  It's  a  penal  offence  now  under  a 
Bill  passed  not  long  ago.  The  Mormon  has  to  elect 
one  wife  and  keep  to  her.  If  he's  caught  visiting  any 
of  the  others  —  do  you  see  that  cool  and  restful 
brown  stone  building  way  over  there  against  the  hill- 
side ?  That's  the  penitentiary.  He  is  sent  there  to 
consider  his  sins,  and  he  pays  a  fine,  too.  But  most  of 
the  police  in  Salt  Lake  are  Mormons,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose they  are  too  hard  on  their  friends.  I  presoom 
there's  a  good  deal  of  polygamy  practised  on  the  sly. 
But  the  chief  trouble  is  to  get  the  Mormon  to  see  that 
the  Gentile  isn't  the  doubly-damned  beast  that  the 
elders  represent.  Only  get  the  Gentiles  well  into  the 
State,  and  the  whole  concern  is  bound  to  go  to  pieces  in 
a  very  little  time." 

And  the  wish  being  father  to  the  thought,  "  Why,  cer- 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  111 

tainly,"  said  I,  and  began  to  take  in  the  valley  of  Dese- 
ret,  the  home  of  the  latter-day  saints,  and  the  abode 
perhaps  of  as  much  misery  as  has  ever  been  compressed 
into  forty  years.  The  good  folk  at  home  will  not  under- 
stand, but  you  will,  what  follows.  You  know  how  in 
Bengal  to  this  day  the  child-wife  is  taught  to  curse  her 
possible  co-wife,  ere  yet  she  has  gone  to  her  husband's 
house?  And  the  Bengali  woman  has  been  accustomed  to 
polygamy  for  a  few  hundred  years.  You  know,  too,  the 
awful  jealousy  between  mother  wife  and  barren  behind 
the  purdah  —  the  jealousy  that  culminates  sometimes  in 
the  poisoning  of  the  well-beloved  son  ?  Now  and  again, 
an  Englishwoman  employs  a  high-caste  Mussulman  nurse, 
and  in  the  offices  of  that  hire  women  are  apt  to  forget 
the  differences  of  colour,  and  to  speak  unreservedly  as 
twin  daughters  under  Eve's  curse.  The  nurse  tells 
very  strange  and  awful  things.  She  has,  and  this  the 
Mormons  count  a  privilege,  been  born  into  polygamy  ; 
but  she  loathes  and  detests  it  from  the  bottom  of  her 
jealous  soul.  And  to  the  lot  of  the  Bengali  co-wife  — 
"  the  cursed  of  the  cursed  —  the  daughter  of  the  dunghill 
—  the  scald-head  and  the  barren-mute"  (you  know  the 
rest  of  that  sweet  commination-service)  —  one  creed,  of 
all  the  White  creeds  to-day,  deliberately  introduces  the 
white  woman  taken  from  centuries  of  training,  which 
have  taught  her  that  it  is  right  to  control  the  undivided 
heart  of  one  man.  To  quench  her  most  natural  rebellion, 
that  amazing  creed  and  fantastic  jumble  of  Mahometan- 
ism,  the  Mosaical  law,  and  imperfectly  comprehended 
fragments  of  Freemasonry,  calls  to  its  aid  all  the  powers 
of  a  hell  conceived  and  elaborated  by  coarse-minded 
hedgers  and  ditchers.  A  sweet  view,  isn't  it? 


112  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

All  the  beauty  of  the  valley  could  not  make  me  forget 
it.  But  the  valley  is  very  fair.  Bench  after  bench  of 
land,  flat  as  a  table  against  the  flanks  of  the  ringing 
hills,  marks  where  the  Salt  Lake  rested  for  a  while  as 
it  sunk  from  an  inland  sea  to  a  lake  fifty  miles  long 
and  thirty  broad.  Before  long  the  benches  Avill  be 
covered  with  houses.  At  present  these  are  hidden  among 
the  green  trees  on  the  dead  flat  of  the  valley.  You  have 
read  a  hundred  times  how  the  streets  of  Salt  Lake  City 
are  very  broad,  furnished  with  rows  of  shade  trees  and 
gutters  of  fresh  water.  This  is  true,  but  I  struck  the 
town  in  a  season  of  great  drouth  —  that  same  drouth 
which  is  playing  havoc  with  the  herds  of  Montana.  The 
trees  were  limp,  and  the  rills  of  sparkling  water  that  one 
reads  about  were  represented  by  dusty,  paved  courses. 
Main  Street  appears  to  be  inhabited  by  the  commercial 
Gentile,  who  has  made  of  it  a  busy,  bustling  thorough- 
fare, and,  in  the  eye  of  the  sun,  swigs  the  ungodly  lager 
and  smokes  the  improper  cigar  all  day  long  For  which 
I  like  him.  At  the  head  of  Main  Street  stand  the  lions 
of  the  place;  the  Temple  and  the  Tabernacle,  the 
Tithing  House,  and  the  houses  of  Brigham  Young,  whose 
portrait  is  on  sale  in  most  of  the  booksellers'  shops. 
Incidentally  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the  late  Amir  of 
Utah  does  not  unremotely  resemble  His  Highness  the 
Amir  of  Afghanistan,  whom  these  fortunate  eyes  have 
seen.  And  I  have  no  desire  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  Amir.  The  first  thing  to  be  seen  was,  of  course, 
the  Temple,  the  outward  exponent  of  a  creed.  Armed 
with  a  copy  of  the  Book  of  Mormon,  for  better  compre- 
hension, I  went  to  form  rash  opinions.  Some  day  the 
Temple  will  be  finished.  It  was  begun  only  thirty  years 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  113 

ago,  and  up  to  date  rather  more  than  three  million  dol- 
lars and  a  half  have  been  expended  in  its  granite  bulk. 
The  walls  are  ten  feet  thick  ;  the  edifice  itself  is  about  a 
hundred  feet  high ;  and  its  towers  will  be  nearly  two  hun- 
dred. And  that  is  all  there  is  of  it,  unless  you  choose  to 
inspect  more  closely;  always  reading  the  Book  of  Mor- 
mon as  you  walk.  Then  the  wondrous  puerility,  of  what 
I  suppose  we  must  call  the  design,  becomes  apparent. 
These  men,  directly  inspired  from  on  High,  heaped  stone 
on  stone  and  pillar  on  pillar,  without  achieving  either 
dignity,  relief,  or  interest.  There  is,  over  the  main  door, 
some  pitiful  scratching  hi  stone  representing  the  all-see- 
ing eye,  the  Masonic  grip,  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and, 
perhaps,  other  skittles.  The  flatness  and  meanness  of  the 
thing  almost  makes  you  weep  when  you  look  at  the  mag- 
nificent granite  in  blocks  strewn  abroad,  and  think  of  the 
art  that  three  million  dollars  might  have  called  in  to  the 
aid  of  the  church.  It  is  as  though  a  child  had  said:  "Let 
us  draw  a  great,  big,  fine  house  —  finer  than  any  house 
that  ever  was,"  —  and  in  that  desire  had  laboriously 
smudged  along  with  a  ruler  and  pencil,  piling  meaning- 
less straight  lines  on  compass-drawn  curves,  with  his 
tongue  following  every  movement  of  the  inept  hand. 
Then  sat  I  down  on  a  wheelbarrow  and  read  the  Book 
of  Mormon,  and  behold  the  spirit  of  the  book  was  the 
spirit  of  the  stone  before  me.  The  estimable  Joseph 
and  Hyrum  Smith  struggling  to  create  a  new  Bible, 
when  they  knew  nothing  of  the  history  of  Old  and 
New  Testament,  and  the  inspired  architect  muddling 
with  his  bricks — they  were  brothers.  But  the  book  was 
more  interesting  than  the  building.  It  is  written,  and 
all  the  -world  has  read,  how  to  Joseph  Smith  an  angel 
TOL.  u  —  i 


114  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

came  down  from  Heaven  with  a  pair  of  celestial  gig- 
lamps,  whereby  he  was  marvellously  enabled  to  inter- 
pret certain  plates  of  gold  scribbled  over  with  dots 
and  scratches,  and  discovered  by  him  in  the  ground. 
Which  plates  Joseph  Smith  did  translate  —  only  he 
spelt  the  mysterious  characters  "  caractors  "  —  and  out 
of  the  dots  and  scratches  produced  a  volume  of  six 
hundred  closely  printed  pages,  containing  the  books  of 
Nephi,  first  and  second,  Jacob,  Enos,  Jarorn,  Omni,  Mor- 
mon, Mosiah,  the  Kecord  of  Zeniff,  the  book  of  Alma 
Helaman,  the  third  of  Nephi,  the  book  of  Ether  (the 
whole  thing  is  a  powerful  anaesthetic,  by  the  way),  and 
the  final  book  of  Mononi.  Three  men,  of  whom  one 
I  believe  is  now  living,  bear  solemn  witness  that  the 
angel  with  the  spectacles  appeared  unto  them;  eight 
other  men  swear  solemnly  that  they  have  seen  the  golden 
plates  of  the  revelation ;  and  upon  this  testimony  the 
book  of  Mormon  stands.  The  Mormon  Bible  begins  at 
the  days  of  Zedekiah,  King  of  Judah,  and  ends  in  a 
wild  and  weltering  quagmire  of  tribal  fights,  bits  of 
revelation,  and  wholesale  cribs  from  the  Bible.  Very 
sincerely  did  I  sympathise  with  the  inspired  brothers 
as  I  waded  through  their  joint  production.  As  a  humble 
fellow-worker  in  the  field  of  fiction,  I  knew  what  it  was 
to  get  good  names  for  one's  characters.  But  Joseph  and 
Hyrum  were  harder  bestead  than  ever  I  have  been ;  and 
bolder  men  to  boot.  They  created  Teancum  and  Corian- 
tumy  Pahorau,  Kishkumen,  and  Gadianton,  and  other 
priceless  names  which  the  memory  does  not  hold;  but 
of  geography  they  wisely  steered  clear,  and  were  astutely 
vague  as  to  the  localities  of  places,  because  you  see  they 
were  by  no  means  certain  what  lay  in  the  next  county 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  115 

to  their  own.  They  marched  and  countermarched  blood- 
thirsty armies  across  their  pages;  and  added  new  and 
amazing  chapters  to  the  records  of  the  New  Testament, 
and  reorganised  the  heavens  and  the  earth  as  it  is  always 
lawful  to  do  in.  print.  But  they  could  not  achieve  style, 
and  it  was  foolish  of  them  to  let  into  their  weird  Mosaic 
pieces  of  the  genuine  Bible  whenever  the  labouring  pen 
dropped  from  its  toilsome  parody  to  a  sentence  or  two  of 
vile,  bad  English  or  downright  "penny  dreadfulism." 
"And  Moses  said  unto  the  people  of  Israel:  'Great  Scott! 
what  air  you  doing?"'  There  is  no  sentence  in  the  Book 
of  Mormon  word  for  word  like  the  foregoing;  but  the 
general  tone  is  not  widely  different. 

There  are  the  makings  of  a  very  fine  creed  about  Mor- 
monism.  To  begin  with,  the  Church  is  rather  more  abso- 
lute than  that  of  Eome.  Drop  the  polygamy  plank  in 
the  platform,  but  on  the  other  hand  deal  lightly  with 
certain  forms  of  excess.  Keep  the  quality  of  the  re- 
cruits down  to  a  low  mental  level  and  see  that  the  best 
of  the  agricultural  science  available  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  Elders,  and  you  have  there  a  first-class  engine  for 
pioneer  work.  The  tawdry  mysticism  and  the  borrow- 
ings from  Freemasonry  serve  the  low-caste  Swede  and 
the  Dane,  the  Welshman  and  the  Cornish  cottar,  just  as 
well  as  a  highly  organised  Heaven. 

I  went  about  the  streets  and  peeped  into  people's 
front  windows,  and  the  decorations  upon  the  tables  were 
after  the  manner  of  the  year  1850.  Main  Street  was 
full  of  country  folk  from  the  outside  come  in  to  trade 
with  the  Zion  Mercantile  Co-operative  Institute.  The 
Church,  I  fancy,  looks  after  the  finances  of  this  thing, 
and  it  consequently  pays  good  dividends.  The  faces  of 


116  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

the  women  were  not  lovely.  Indeed,  but  for  the  cer- 
tainty that  ugly  persons  are  just  as  irrational  in  the  mat- 
ter of  undivided  love  as  the  beautiful,  it  seemed  that 
polygamy  was  a  blessed  institution  for  the  women,  and 
that  only  the  spiritual  power  could  drive  the  hulking, 
board-faced  men  into  it.  The  women  wore  hideous  gar- 
ments, and  the  men  seemed  to  be  tied  up  with  string. 
They  would  market  all  that  afternoon,  and  on  Sunday  go 
to  the  praying-place.  I  tried  to  talk  to  a  few  of  them, 
but  they  spoke  strange  tongues  and  stared  and  behaved 
like  cows.  Yet  one  woman,  and  not  an  altogether  ugly 
one,  confided  to  me  that  she  hated  the  idea  of  Salt  Lake 
City  being  turned  into  a  show-place  for  the  amusement 
of  the  Gentile. 

"  If  we  'ave  our  own  institutions,  that  ain't  no  reason 
why  people  should  come  'ere  and  stare  at  us,  his  it  ?  " 

The  dropped  "  h  "  betrayed  her. 

"  And  when  did  you  leave  England  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Summer  of  '84.  I  am  from  Dorset,"  she  said.  "  The 
Mormon  agents  was  very  good  to  us,  and  we  was  very 
poor.  Now  we're  better  off  —  my  father  an'  mother  an' 
me." 

"Then  you  like  the  State  ?  " 

She  misunderstood  at  first.  "  Oh,  I  ain't  livin'  in  the 
state  of  polygamy.  Not  me  yet.  I  ain't  married.  I 
like  where  I  am.  I've  got  things  o'  my  own  —  and  some 
land." 

"  But  I  suppose  you  will  —  " 

"Not  me.  I  ain't  like  them  Swedes  an'  Danes.  I 
ain't  got  nothin'  to  say  for  or  against  polygamy.  It's  the 
Elders'  business,  an'  between  you  an'  me  I  don't  think 
it's  going  on  much  longer.  You'll  'ear  them  in  the  'ouse 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  117 

to-morrer  talkin'  as  if  it  was  spreadin'  all  over  America. 
The  Swedes  they  think  it  his.     I  know  it  hisn't." 

"  But  you've  got  your  land  all  right." 

"Oh,  yes,  we've  got  our  land  an'  we  never  say  aught 
against  polygamy  o'  course  —  father  an'  mother  an'  me." 

It  strikes  me  that  there  is  a  fraud  somewhere.    You've 
never  heard  of  the  rice-Christians,  have  you  ? 

I  should  have  liked  to  have  spoken  to  the  maiden  at 
length,  but  she  dived  into  the  Zion  Co-op,  and  a  man  cap- 
tured me,  saying  that  it  was  my  feounden  duty  to  see  the 
sights  of  Salt  Lake.  These  comprised  the  egg-shaped 
Tabernacle,  the  Beehive,  and  town  houses  of  Brigham 
Young;  the  same  great  ruffian's  tomb  with  assorted 
samples  of  his  wives  sleeping  round  him  (just  as  the 
eleven  faithful  ones  sleep  round  the  ashes  of  Run  jit 
Singh  outside  Fort  Lahore),  and  one  or  two  other  curiosi- 
ties. But  all  these  things  have  been  described  by  abler 
pens  than  mine.  The  animal-houses  where  Brigham 
used  to  pack  his  wives  are  grubby  villas ;  the  Tabernacle 
is  a  shingled  fraud,  and  the  Tithing  House  where  all  the 
revenue  returns  seem  to  be  made,  much  resembles  a 
stable.  The  Mormons  have  a  paper  currency  of  their 
own  —  ecclesiastical  bank-notes  which  are  exchanged  for 
local  produce.  But  the  little  boys  of  the  place  prefer 
the  bullion  of  the  Gentiles.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be 
taken  round  a  township  with  your  guide  stopping  before 
every  third  house  to  say :  "  That's  where  Elder  so 
and  so  kept  Amelia  Bathershins,  his  fifth  wife  —  no, 
his  third.  Amelia  she  was  took  on  after  Keziah,  but 
Keziah  was  the  Elder's  pet,  an'  he  didn't  dare  to  let 
Amelia  come  across  Keziah  for  fear  of  her  spilin' 
Keziah's  beauty."  The  Mussulmans  are  quite  right. 


118  FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

The  minute  that  all  the  domestic  details  of  polygamy 
are  discussed  in  the  mouths  of  the  people,  that  institu- 
tion is  ready  to  fall.  I  shook  off  my  guide  when  he 
had  told  me  his  very  last  doubtful  tale,  and  went  on 
alone.  An  ordered  peace  and  a  perfection  of  quiet  lux- 
ury is  the  note  of  the  city  of  Salt  Lake.  The  houses 
stand  in  generous  and  well-groomed  grass-plots,  none 
very  much  worse  or  better  than  their  neighbours. 
Creepers  grow  over  the  house  fronts,  and  there  is  a 
very  pleasant  music  of  wind  among  the  trees  in  the 
vast  empty  streets  bringing  a  smell  of  hay  and  the 
flowers  of  summer. 

On  a  tableland  overlooking  all  the  city  stands  the 
United  States  garrison  of  infantry  and  artillery.  The 
State  of  Utah  can  do  nearly  anything  it  pleases  until 
that  much-to-be-desired  hour  when  the  Gentile  vote 
shall  quietly  swamp  out  Mormonism;  but  the  garrison 
is  kept  there  in  case  of  accidents.  The  big,  shark- 
mouthed,  pig-eared,  heavy-boned  farmers  sometimes  take 
to  their  creed  with  wildest  fanaticism,  and  in  past  years 
have  made  life  excessively  unpleasant  for  the  Gentile 
when  he  was  few  in  the  land.  But  to-day,  so  far  from 
killing  openly  or  secretly,  or  burning  Gentile  farms,  it  is 
all  the  Mormon  dares  do  to  feebly  try  to  boycott  the 
interloper.  His  journals  preach  defiance  to  the  United 
States  Government,  and  in  the  Tabernacle  of  a  Sunday 
the  preachers  follow  suit.  When  I  went  down  there  the 
place  was  full  of  people  who  would  have  been  much 
better  for  a  washing.  A  man  rose  up  and  told  them 
that  they  were  the  chosen  of  God,  the  elect  of  Israel, 
that  they  were  to  obey  their  priest,  and  that  there  was 
a  good  time  coming.  I  fancy  that  they  had  heard  all 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  119 

this  before  so  many  times  it  produced  no  impression 
whatever;  even  as  the  sublimest  mysteries  of  another 
Faith  lose  salt  through  constant  iteration.  They  breathed 
heavily  through  their  noses  and  stared  straight  in  front 
of  them  —  impassive  as  flatfish. 

And  that  evening  I  went  up  to  the  garrison  post  —  one 
of  the  most  coveted  of  all  the  army  commands  —  and 
overlooked  the  City  of  the  Saints  as  it  lay  in  the  circle  of 
its  forbidding  hills.  You  can  speculate  a  good  deal  about 
the  mass  of  human  misery,  the  loves  frustrated,  the  gentle 
hearts  broken,  and  the  strong  souls  twisted  from  the  law 
of  life  to  a  fiercer  following  of  the  law  of  death,  that 
the  hills  have  seen.  How  must  it  have  been  in  the  old 
days  when  the  footsore  emigrants  broke  through  into 
the  circle  and  knew  that  they  were  cut  off  from  hope  of 
return  or  sight  of  friends  —  were  handed  over  to  the 
power  of  the  friends  that  called  themselves  priests  of 
the  Most  High  ?  "  But  for  the  grace  of  God  there  goes 
Richard  Baxter,"  as  the  eminent  divine  once  said.  It 
seemed  good  that  fate  did  not  order  me  to  be  a  brick  in 
the  up-building  of  the  Mormon  church,  that  has  so  aptly 
established  herself  by  the  borders  of  a  lake  bitter,  salt, 
and  hopeless. 


No.  XXXIII 

HOW   I    MET   CERTAIN    PEOPLE     OF     IMPORTANCE    BETWEEN 
SALT   LAKE    AND    OMAHA. 

"  Much  have  I  seen, 
Cities  and  men." 

LET  there  be  no  misunderstanding  about  the  matter.  I 
love  this  People,  and  if  any  contemptuous  criticism  has  to 
be  done,  I  will  do  it  myself.  My  heart  has  gone  out  to 
them  beyond  all  other  peoples ;  and  for  the  life  of  me  I 
carfnot  tell  why.  They  are  bleeding-raw  at  the  edges, 
almost  more  conceited  than  the  English,  vulgar  with  a 
massive  vulgarity  which  is  as  though  the  Pyramids  were 
coated  with  Christmas-cake  sugar-works.  Cocksure  they 
are,  lawless  and  as  casual  as  they  are  cocksure;  but  I 
love  them,  and  I  realised  it  when  I  met  an  Englishman 
who  laughed  at  them.  He  proved  conclusively  that  they 
were  all  wrong,  from  their  tariff  to  their  go-as-you-please 
Civil  Service,  and  beneath  the  consideration  of  a  true 
Briton. 

"I  admit  everything,"  said  I.  "Their  Government's 
provisional ;  their  law's  the  notion  of  the  moment ;  their 
railways  are  made  of  hairpins  and  match-sticks,  and 
most  of  their  good  luck  lives  in  their  woods  and  mines 
and  rivers  and  not  in  their  brains ;  but  for  all  that,  they 
be  the  biggest,  finest,  and  best  people  on  the  surface  of 
the  globe !  Just  you  wait  a  hundred  years  and  see  how 

120 


FROM   SEA   TO   SEA  121 

they'll  behave  when  they've  had  the  screw  put  on  them 
and  have  forgotten  a  few  of  the  patriarchal  teachings  of 
the  late  Mister  George  Washington.  Wait  till  the  Anglo- 
American-German-Jew  —  the  Man  of  the  Future  —  is  prop- 
erly equipped.  He'll  have  just  the  least  little  kink  in  his 
hair  now  and  again ;  he'll  carry  the  English  lungs  above 
the  Teuton  feet  that  can  walk  for  ever ;  and  he  will  wave 
long,  thin,  bony  Yankee  hands  with  the  big  blue  veins 
on  the  wrist,  from  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the  other. 
He'll  be  the  finest  writer,  poet,  and  dramatist,  'specially 
dramatist,  that  the  world  as  it  recollects  itself  has  ever 
seen.  By  virtue  of  his  Jew  blood  —  just  a  little,  little 
drop  —  he'll  be  a  musician  and  a  painter  too.  At  present 
there  is  too  much  balcony  and  too  little  Romeo  in  the  life- 
plays  of  his  fellow-citizens.  Later  on,  when  the  propor- 
tion is  adjusted  and  he  sees  the  possibilities  of  his  land, 
he  will  produce  things  that  will  make  the  effete  East 
stare.  He  will  also  be  a  complex  and  highly  composite 
administrator.  There  is  nothing  known  to  man  that  he 
will  not  be,  and  his  country  will  sway  the  world  with  one 
foot  as  a  man  tilts  a  see-saw  plank ! " 

"But  this  is  worse  than  the  Eagle  at  its  worst.  Do 
you  seriously  believe  all  that  ?  "  said  the  Englishman. 

"If  I  believe  anything  seriously,  all  this  I  most 
firmly  believe.  You  wait  and  see.  Sixty  million  people, 
chiefly  of  English  instincts,  who  are  trained  from  youth 
to  believe  that  nothing  is  impossible,  don't  slink  through 
the  centuries  like  Russian  peasantry.  They  ai?e  bound 
to  leave  their  mark  somewhere,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

But  isn't  it  sad  to  think  that  with  all  Eternity  behind 
and  before  us  we  cannot,  even  though  we  would  pay  for 
it  with  sorrow,  filch  from  the  Immensities  one  hundred 


122  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

poor  years  of  life,  wherein  to  watch,  the  two  Great 
Experiments?  A  hundred  years  hence  India  and 
America  will  be  worth  observing.  At  present  the  one 
is  burned  out  and  the  other  is  only  just  stoking  up. 
When  I  left  my  opponent  there  was  much  need  for 
faith,  because  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  perfectly  delight- 
ful man  whom  I  had  met  casually  in  the  street,  sitting 
in  a  chair  on  the  pavement,  smoking  a  huge  cigar.  He 
was  a  commercial  traveller,  and  his  beat  lay  through 
Southern  Mexico,  and  he  told  me  tales,  of  forgotten 
cities,  stone  gods  up  to  their  sacred  eyes  in  forest 
growth,  Mexican  priests,  rebellious,  and  dictatorships, 
that  made  my  hair  curl.  It  was  he  who  dragged  me 
forth  to  bathe  in  Salt  Lake,  which  is  some  fifteen  miles 
away  from  the  city,  and  reachable  by  many  trains  which 
are  but  open  tram-cars.  The  track,  like  all  American 
tracks,  was  terrifying  in  its  roughness ;  and  the  end  of 
the  journey  disclosed  the  nakedness  of  the  accommoda- 
tion. There  were  piers  and  band  houses  and  refresh- 
ment stalls  built  over  the  solid  grey  levels  of  the  lake, 
but  they  only  accentuated  the  utter  barrenness  of  the 
place.  Americans  don't  mix  with  their  scenery  as  yet. 

And  "  Have  faith,"  said  the  commercial  traveller  as  he 
walked  into  water  heavy  as  quicksilver.  "  Walk  ! "  I 
walked,  and  I  walked  till  my  legs  flew  up  and  I  had 
to  walk  as  one  struggling  with  a  high  wind,  but  still 
I  rode  head  and  shoulders  above  the  water.  It  was  a 
horrible  feeling,  this  inability  to  sink.  Swimming  was 
not  much  use.  You  couldn't  get  a  grip  of  the  water, 
so  I  e'en  sat  me  down  and  drifted  like  a  luxurious 
anemone  among  the  hundreds  that  were  bathing  in  that 
place.  You  could  wallow  for  three-quarters  of  an 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  123 

hour  in  that  warm,  sticky  brine  and  fear  no  evil  con- 
sequences; but  when  you  came  out  you  were  coated 
with  white  salt  from  top  to  toe.  And  if  you  acci- 
dentally swallowed  a  mouthful  of  the  water,  ypu  died. 
This  is  true,  because  I  swallowed  half  a  mouthful 
and  was  half-dead  in  consequence. 

The  commercial  traveller  on  our  return  journey  across 
the  level  flats  that  fringe  the  lake's  edge  bade  me  note 
some  of  the  customs  of  his  people.  The  great  open 
railway  car  held  about  a  hundred  men  and  maidens, 
"coming  up  with  a  song  from  the  sea."  They  sang 
and  they  shouted  and  they  exchanged  witticisms  of  the 
most  poignant,  and  comported  themselves  like  their 
brothers  and  sisters  over  the  seas  —  the  'Arries  and 
'Arriets  of  the  older  world.  And  there  sat  behind  me 
two  modest  maidens  in  white,  alone  and  unattended. 
To  these  the  privileged  youth  of  the  car  —  a  youth  of 
a  marvellous  range  of  voice  —  proffered  undying  affec- 
tion. They  laughed,  but  made  no  reply  in  words.  The 
suit  was  renewed,  and  with  extravagant  imagery ;  the 
nearest  seats  applauding.  When  we  arrived  at  the  city 
the  maidens  turned  and  went  their  way  up  a  dark  tree- 
shaded  street,  and  the  boys  elsewhere.  Whereat,  recol- 
lecting what  the  London  rough  was  like,  I  marvelled 
that  they  did  not  pursue.  "It's  all  right,"  said  the 
commercial  traveller.  "If  they  had  followed  —  well,  I 
guess  some  one  would  ha'  shot  'em."  The  very  next 
day  on  those  very  peaceful  cars  returning  from  the 
Lake  some  one  was  shot  —  dead.  He  was  what  they 
call  a  "  sport,"  which  is  American  for  a  finished  "  leg," 
and  he  had  an  argument  with  a  police  officer,  and 
the  latter  slew  him.  I  saw  his  funeral  go  down  the 


124  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

main  street.  There  were  nearly  thirty  carriages,  filled 
with  doubtful  men,  and  women  not  in  the  least  doubt- 
ful, and  the  local  papers  said  that  deceased  had  his 
merits,  but  it  didn't  much  matter,  because  if  the  Sheriff 
hadn't  dropped  him  he  would  assuredly  have  dropped 
the  Sheriff.  Somehow  this  jarred  on  my  sensitive  feel- 
ings, and  I  went  away,  though  the  commercial  traveller 
would  fain  have  entertained  me  in  his  own  house,  he  know- 
ing not  my  name.  Twice  through  the  long  hot  nights 
we  talked,  tilting  up  our  chairs  on  the  sidewalk,  of  the 
future  of  America. 

You  should  hear  the  Saga  of  the  States  reeled  off 
by  a  young  and  enthusiastic  citizen  who  had  just 
carved  out  for  himself  a  home,  filled  it  with  a  pretty 
little  wife,  and  is  preparing  to  embark  on  commerce 
on  his  own  account.  I  was  tempted  to  believe  that 
pistol-shbts  were  regrettable  accidents  and  lawlessness 
only  the  top  scum  on  the  great  sea  of  humanity.  I 
am  tempted  to  believe  that  still,  though  baked  and 
dusty  Utah  is  very  many  miles  behind  me. 

Then  chance  threw  me  into  the  arms  of  another  and 
very  different  commercial  traveller,  as  we  pulled  out 
of  Utah  on  our  way  to  Omaha  via  the  Rockies.  He 
travelled  in  biscuits,  of  which  more  anon,  and  Fate  had 
smitten  him  very  heavily,  having  at  one  stroke  knocked 
all  the  beauty  and  joy  out  of  his  poor  life.  So  he 
journeyed  with  a  case  of  samples  as  one  dazed,  and 
his  eyes  took  no  pleasure  in  anything  that  he  saw. 
In  his  despair  he  had  withdrawn  himself  to  his  re- 
ligion,— he  was  a  Baptist,  —  and  spoke  of  its  consolation 
with  the  artless  freedom  that  an  American  generally 
exhibits  when  he  is  talking  about  his  most  sacred 


FBOM   SEA  TO  SEA  125 

private  affairs.  There  was  a  desert  beyond  Utah,  hot 
and  barren  as  Mian  Mir  in  May.  The  sun  baked  the 
car-roof,  and  the  dust  caked  the  windows,  and  through 
the  dust  and  the  glare  the  man  with  the  biscuits  bore 
witness  to  his  creed,  which  seems  to  include  one  of 
the  greatest  miracles  in  the  world  —  the  immediate  un- 
foreseen, self-conscious  redemption  of  the  soul  by  means 
very  similar  to  those  which  turned  Paul  to  the  straight 
path. 

"You  must  experience  religion,"  he  repeated,  his 
mouth  twitching  and  his  eyes  black-ringed  with  his 
recent  loss.  "  You  must  experience  religion.  You  can't 
tell  when  you're  goin'  to  get,  or  haow ;  but  it  will  come 
—  it  will  come,  Sir,  like  a  lightning  stroke,  an'  you  will 
wrestle  with  yourself  before  you  receive  full  conviction 
and  assurance." 

"  How  long  does  that  take  ?  "  I  asked  reverently. 

"It  may  take  hours.  It  may  take  days.  I  knew  a 
man  in  San  Jo  who  lay  under  conviction  for  a  month 
an'  then  he  got  the  sperrit  —  as  you  must  git  it." 

«  And  then  ?  " 

"  And  then  you  are  saved.  You  feel  that,  an'  you  kin 
endure  anything,"  he  sighed.  "  Yes,  anything.  I  don't 
care  what  it  is,  though  I  allow  that  some  things  are 
harder  than  others." 

"  Then  you  have  to  wait  for  the  miracle  to  be  worked 
by  powers  outside  yourself.  And  if  the  miracle  doesn't 
work  ?  " 

"  But  it  must.  I  tell  you  it  must.  It  comes  to  all 
who  profess  with  faith." 

I  learned  a  good  deal  about  that  creed  as  the  train  fled 
on;  and  I  wondered  as  I  learned.  It  was  a  strange 


126  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

thing  to  watch  that  poor  human  soul,  broken  and  bowed 
by  its  loss,  nerving  itself  against  each  new  pang  of  pain 
with  the  iterated  assurance  that  it  was  safe  against  the 
pains  of  Hell. 

The  heat  was  stifling.  We  quitted  the  desert  and 
launched  into  the  rolling  green  plains  of  Colorado. 
Dozing  uneasily  with  every  removable  rag  removed,  I 
was  roused  by  a  blast  of  intense  cold  and  the  drumming 
of  a  hundred  drums.  The  train  had  stopped.  Far  as 
the  eye  could  range  the  land  was  white  under  two  feet 
of  hail  —  each  hailstone  as  big  as  the  top  of  a  sherry- 
glass.  I  saw  a  y©ung  colt  by  the  side  of  the  track 
standing  with  his  poor  little  fluffy  back  to  the  pitiless 
pelting.  He  was  pounded  to  death.  An  old  horse  met 
his  doom  on  the  run.  He  galloped  wildly  towards  the 
train,  but  his  hind  legs  dropped  into  a  hole  half  water 
and  half  ice.  He  beat  the  ground  with  his  fore-feet  for 
a  minute  and  then  rolling  over  on  his  side  submitted 
quietly  to  be  killed. 

When  the  storm  ceased,  we  picked  our  way  cautiously 
and  crippledly  over  a  track  that  might  give  way  at  any 
moment.  The  Western  driver  urges  his  train  much  as 
does  the  Subaltern  the  bounding  pony,  and  'twould  seem 
with  an  equal  sense  of  responsibility.  If  a  foot  does  go 
wrong,  why  there  you  are,  don't  you  know,  and  if  it  is  all 
right,  why  all  right  it  is,  don't  you  know.  But  I  would 
sooner  be  on  the  pony  than  the  train. 

This  seems  a  good  place  wherein  to  preach  on  Ameri- 
can versatility.  When  Mr.  Howells  writes  a  novel, 
when  a  reckless  hero  dams  a  flood  by  heaving  a  dyna- 
mite-shattered mountain  into  it,  or  when  a  notoriety- 
hunting  preacher  marries  a  couple  in  a  balloon,  you  shall 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  127 

hear  the  great  American  press  rise  on  its  hind  legs  and 
walk  round  mouthing  over  the  versatility  of  the  Ameri- 
can citizen.  And  he  is  versatile  — '•  horribly  so.  The  un- 
limited exercise  of  the  right  of  private  judgment  (which, 
by  the  way,  is  a  weapon  not  one  man  in  ten  is  competent 
to  handle),  his  blatant  cocksureness,  and  the  dry-air-bred 
restlessness  that  makes  him  crawl  all  over  the  furniture 
when  he  is  talking  to  you,  conspire  to  make  him  ver- 
satile. But  what  he  calls  versatility  the  impartial  by- 
stander of  Anglo-Indian  extraction  is  apt  to  deem  mere 
casualness,  and  dangerous  casualness  at  that.  No  man 
can  grasp  the  inwardness  of  an  employ  by  the  light  of 
pure  reason  —  even  though  that  reason  be  republican. 
He  must  serve  an  apprenticeship  to  one  craft  and  learn 
that  craft  all  the  days  of  his  life  if  he  wishes  to  excel 
therein.  Otherwise  he  merely  "  puts  the  thing  through 
somehow;"  and  occasionally  he  doesn't.  But  wherein 
lies  the  beauty  of  this  form  of  mental  suppleness  ?  Old 
man  California,  whom  I  shall  love  and  respect  always, 
told  me  one  or  two  anecdotes  about  American  versatility 
and  its  consequences  that  came  back  to  my  mind  with 
direful  force  as  the  train  progressed.  We  didn't  upset, 
but  I  don't  think  that  that  was  the  fault  of  the  driver 
or  the  men  who  made  the  track.  Take  up — you  can 
easily  find  them  —  the  accounts  of  ten  consecutive  rail- 
way catastrophes  —  not  little  accidents,  but  first-class 
fatalities,  when  the  long  cars  turn  over,  take  fire,  and 
roast  the  luckless  occupants  alive.  To  seven  out  of 
the  ten  you  shall  find  appended  the  cheerful  state- 
ment: "The  accident  is  supposed  to  have  been  due  to 
the  rails  spreading."  That  means  the  metals  were 
spiked  down  to  the  ties  with  such  versatility  that  the 


128  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

spikes  or  the  tracks  drew  under  the  constant  vibration 
of  the  traffic,  and  the  metals  opened  out.  No  one  is 
hanged  for  these  little  affairs. 

We  began  to  climb  hills,  and  then  we  stopped — at  night 
in  darkness,  while  men  threw  sand  under  the  wheels  and 
crowbarred  the  track  and  then  "guessed"  that  we  might 
proceed.  Not  being  in  the  least  anxious  to  face  my 
Maker  half  asleep  and  rubbing  my  eyes,  I  went  forward 
to  a  common  car,  and  was  rewarded  by  two  hours' 
conversation  with  the  stranded,  broken-down,  husband- 
abandoned  actress  of  a  fourth-rate,  stranded,  broken- 
down,  manager-bereft  company.  She  was  muzzy  with 
beer,  reduced  to  her  last  dollar,  fearful  that  there  would 
be  no  one  to  meet  her  at  Omaha,  and  wept  at  intervals 
because  she  had  given  the  conductor  a  five-dollar  bill  to 
change,  and  he  hadn't  come  back.  He  was  an  Irishman, 
so  I  knew  he  couldn't  steal,  and  I  addressed  myself  to 
the  task  of  consolation.  I  was  rewarded,  after  a  decent 
interval,  by  the  history  of  a  life  so  wild,  so  mixed,  so  des- 
perately improbable,  and  yet  so  simply  probable,  and  above 
all  so  quick  —  not  fast  —  in  its  kaleidoscopic  changes  that 
the  Pioneer  would  reject  any  summary  of  it.  And  so  you 
will  never  know  how  she,  the  beery  woman  with  the  tan- 
gled blond  hair,  was  once  a  girl  on  a  farm  in  far-off 
New  Jersey.  How  he,  a  travelling  actor,  had  wooed  and 
won  her,  —  "  but  Paw  he  was  always  set  against  Alf,"  — 
and  how  he  and  she  embarked  all  their  little  capital  on 
the  word  of  a  faithless  manager  who  disbanded  his  com- 
pany a  hundred  miles  from  nowhere,  and  how  she  and 
Alf  and  a  third  person  who  had  not  yet  made  any  noise  in 
the  world,  had  to  walk  the  railway-track  and  beg  from 
the  farm-houses;  how  that  third  person  arrived  and 


FKOM  SEA  TO  SEA  129 

went  away  again  with  a  wail,  and  how  Alf  took  to  the 
whisky  and  other  things  still  more  calculated  to  make  a 
wife  unhappy ;  and  how  after  barn-stormings,  insults, 
shooting-scrapes,  and  pitiful  collapses  of  poor  compa- 
nies she  had  once  won  an  encore.  It  was  not  a  cheer- 
ful tale  to  listen  to.  There  was  a  real  actress  in  the 
Pullman,  —  such  an  one  as  travels  sumptuously  with 
a  maid  and  dressing-case,  —  and  my  draggle-tail  thought 
of  appealing  to  her  for  help,  but  broke  down  after  several 
attempts  to  walk  into  the  car  jauntily  as  befitted  a  sister 
in  the  profession.  Then  the  conductor  reappeared, — 
the  five-dollar  bill  honestly  changed,  —  and  she  wept  by 
reason  of  beer  and  gratitude  together,  and  then  fell 
asleep  waveringly,  alone  in  the  car,  and  became  almost 
beautiful  and  quite  kissable;  while  the  Man  with  the 
Sorrow  stood  at  the  door  between  actress  and  actress  and 
preached  grim  sermons  on  the  certain  end  of  each  if 
they  did  not  mend  their  ways  and  find  regeneration 
through  the  miracle  of  the  Baptist  creed.  Yes,  we 
were  a  queer  company  going  up  to  the  Eockies  together. 
I  was  the  luckiest,  because  when  a  breakdown  occurred, 
and  we  were  delayed  for  twelve  hours,  I  ate  all  the 
Baptist's  sample-biscuits.  They  were  various  in  composi- 
tion, but  nourishing.  Always  travel  with  a  "drummer." 

VOL.   II  —  K 


Ho.   XXXIV 

ACROSS    THE   GREAT    DIVIDE;     AND    HOW   THE    MAN    GRING 
SHOWED    ME   THE    GARMENTS    OF   THE   ELLEWOMEN. 

AFTER  much  dallying  and  more  climbing  we  came  to 
a  pass  like  all  the  Bolan  Passes  in  the  world,  and  the 
Black  Canon  of  the  Gunnison  called  they  it.  We  had 
been  climbing  for  very  many  hours,  and  attained  a 
modest  elevation  of  some  seven  or  eight  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea,  when  we  entered  a  gorge,  remote  from  the 
sun,  where  the  rocks  were  two  thousand  feet  sheer,  and 
where  a  rock-splintered  river  roared  and  howled  ten 
feet  below  a  track  which  seemed  to  have  been  built  on 
the  simple  principle  of  dropping  miscellaneous  dirt  into 
the  river  and  pinning  a  few  rails  a-top.  There  was  a 
glory  and  a  wonder  and  a  mystery  about  that  mad  ride 
which  I  felt  keenly  (you  will  find  it  properly  dressed 
up  in  the  guide-books),  until  I  had  to  offer  prayers  for 
the  safety  of  the  train.  There  was  no  hope  of  seeing 
the  track  two  hundred  yards  ahead.  We  seemed  to  be 
running  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  at  the  invitation 
of  an  irresponsible  stream.  Then  the  solid  rock  would 
open  and  disclose  a  curve  of  awful  twistfulness.  Then 
the  driver  put  on  all  steam,  and  we  would  go  round  that 
curve  on  one  wheel  chiefly,  the  Gunnison  River  gnash- 
ing its  teeth  below.  The  cars  overhung  the  edge  of  the 
water,  and  if  a  single  one  of  the  rails  had  chosen  to 

130 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  131 

spread,  nothing  in  the  wide  world  could  have  saved  us 
from  drowning.  I  knew  we  should  damage  something 
in  the  end  —  the  sombre  horrors  of  the  gorge,  the  rush  of 
the  jade-green  water  below,  and  the  cheerful  tales  told 
by  the  conductor  made  me  certain  of  the  catastrophe. 
We  had  just  cleared  the  Black  Canon  and  another 
gorge,  and  were  sailing  out  into  open  country  nine  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  when  we  came  most 
suddenly  round  a  corner  upon  a  causeway  across  a  waste 
water  —  half  dam  and  half  quarry-pool.  The  locomotive 
gave  one  wild  "  Hoo !  Hoo  !  Hoo  ! "  but  it  was  too  late. 
He  was  a  beautiful  bull,  and  goodness  only  knows  why 
he  had  chosen  the  track  for  a  constitutional  with  his 
wife.  She  was  flung  to  the  left,  but  the  cow-catcher 
caught  him,  and  turning  him  round,  heaved  him  shoulder 
deep  into  the  pool.  The  expression  of  blank,  blind  be- 
wilderment on  his  bovine,  jovine  face  was  wonderful  to 
behold.  He  was  not  angry.  I  don't  think  he  was  even 
scared,  though  he  must  have  flown  ten  yards  through 
the  air.  All  he  wanted  to  know  was:  "Will  some- 
body have  the  goodness  to  tell  a  respectable  old  gentle- 
man what  in  the  world,  or  out  of  it,  has  occurred?" 
And  five  minutes  later  the  stream  that  had  been  snap- 
ping at  our  heels  in  the  gorges  split  itself  into  a  dozen 
silver  threads  on  a  breezy  upland,  and  became  an 
innocent  trout  beck,  and  we  halted  at  a  half-dead  city, 
the  name  of  which  does  not  remain  with  me.  It  had 
originally  been  built  on  the  crest  of  a  wave  of 
prosperity.  Once  ten  thousand  people  had  walked  its 
street;  but  the  boom  had  collapsed.  The  great  brick 
houses  and  the  factories  were  empty.  The  population 
livecl  in  little  timber  shinties  on  the  fringes  of  the 


132  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

deserted  town.  There  were  some  railway  workshops 
and  things,  and  the  hotel  (whose  pavement  formed 
the  platform  of  the  railway)  contained  one  hundred 
and  more  rooms  —  empty.  The  place,  in  its  half- 
inhabitedness,  was  more  desolate  than  Amber  or  Chitor. 
But  a  man  said :  "  Trout' —  six  pounds  —  two  miles 
away,"  and  the  Sorrowful  Man  and  myself  went  in 
search  of  'em.  The  town  was  ringed  by  a  circle  of 
hills  all  alive  with  little  thunder-storms  that  broke 
across  the  soft  green  of  the  plain  in  wisps  and  washes 
of  smoke  and  amber. 

To  our  tiny  party  associated  himself  a  lawyer  from 
Chicago.  We  foregathered  on  the  question  of  flies,  but 
I  didn't  expect  to  meet  Elijah  Pogram  in  the  flesh.  He 
delivered  orations  on  the  future  of  England  and  America, 
and  of  the  Great  Federation  that  the  years  will  bring 
forth  when  America  and  England  will  belt  the  globe 
with  their  linked  hands.  According  to  the  notions  of 
the  British,  he  made  an  ass  of  himself,  but  for  all  his 
high-falutin  he  talked  sense.  I  might  knock  through 
England  on  a  four  months'  tour  and  not  find  a  man  cap- 
able of  putting  into  words  the  passionate  patriotism  that 
possessed  the  little  Chicago  lawyer.  And  he  was  a  man 
with  points,  for  he  offered  me  three  days'  shooting  in 
Illinois,  if  I  would  step  out  of  my  path  a  little.  I  might 
travel  for  ten  years  up  and  down  England  ere  I  found  a 
man  who  would  give  a  complete  stranger  so  much  as  a 
sandwich,  and  for  twenty  ere  I  squeezed  as  much  en- 
thusiasm out  of  a  Britisher.  He  and  I  talked  politics 
and  trout-flies  all  one  sultry  day  as  we  wandered  up  and 
down  the  shallows  of  the  stream  aforesaid.  Little  fish 
are  sweet.  I  spent  two  hours  whipping  a  ripple  for  a 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  133 

fish  that  I  knew  was  there,  and  in  the  pasture-scented 
dusk  caught  a  three-pounder  on  a  ragged  old  brown 
hackle  and  landed  him  after  ten  minutes'  excited  argu- 
ment. He  was  a  beauty.  If  ever  any  man  works  the 
Western  trout-streams,  he  would  do  well  to  bring  out 
with  him  the  dingiest  flies  he  possesses.  The  natives 
laugh  at  the  tiny  English  hooks,  but  they  hold,  and  duns 
and  drabs  and  sober  greys  seem  to  tickle  the  aesthetic 
tastes  of  the  trout.  For  salmon  (but  don't  say  that  I 
told  you)  use  the  spoon — gold  on  one  side,  silver  on  the 
other.  It  is  as  killing  as  is  a  similar  article  with  fish 
of  another  calibre.  The  natives  seem  to  use  much  too 
coarse  tackle. 

It  was  a  search  for  a  small  boy  who  should  know  the 
river  that  revealed  to  me  a  new  phase  of  life  —  slack, 
slovenly,  and  shiftless,  but  very  interesting.  There  was 
a  family  in  a  packing-case  hut  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  They  had  seen  the  city  when  it  was  on  the  boom 
and  made  pretence  of  being  the  metropolis  of  the 
Eockies ;  and  when  the  boom  was  over,  they  did  not 
go.  She  was  affable,  but  deeply  coated  with  dirt ;  he 
was  grim  and  grimy,  and  the  little  children  were  simply 
caked  with  filth  of  various  descriptions.  But  they  lived 
in  a  certain  sort  of  squalid  luxury,  six  or  eight  of  them 
in  two  rooms ;  and  they  enjoyed  the  local  society.  It 
was  their  eight-year-old  son  whom  I  tried  to  take  out 
with  me,  but  he  had  been  catching  trout  all  his  life  and 
"  guessed  he  didn't  feel  like  coming,"  though  I  proffered 
him  six  shillings  for  what  ought  to  have  been  a  day's 
pleasuring.  "I'll  stay  with  Maw,"  he  said,  and  from 
that  attitude  I  could  not  move  him.  Maw  didn't  attempt 
to  argue  with  him.  "  If  he  says  he  won't  come,  he 


134  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

won't,"  she  said,  as  though  he  were  one  of  the  elemental 
forces  of  nature  instead  of  a  spankable  brat ;  and  "  Paw," 
lounging  by  the  store,  refused  to  interfere.  Maw  told  me 
that  she  had  been  a  school-teacher  in  her  not-so-distant 
youth,  but  did  not  tell  me  what  I  was  dying  to  know  — 
how  she  arrived  at  this  mucky  tenement  at  the  back  of 
beyond,  and  why.  Though  preserving  the  prettinesses 
of  her  New  England  speech,  she  had  come  to  regard 
washing  as  a  luxury.  Paw  chewed  tobacco  and  spat 
from  time  to  time.  Yet,  when  he  opened  his  mouth  for 
other  purposes,  he  spoke  like  a  well-educated  man. 
There  was  a  story  there,  but  I  couldn't  get  at  it. 

Next  day  the  Man  with  the  Sorrow  and  myself  and  a 
few  others  began  the  real  ascent  of  the  Kockies ;  up  to 
that  time  our  climbing  didn't  count.  The  train  ran 
violently  up  a  steep  place  and  was  taken  to  pieces. 
Five  cars  were  hitched  on  to  two  locomotives,  and  two 
cars  to  one  locomotive.  This  seemed  to  be  a  kind  and 
thoughtful  act,  but  I  was  idiot  enough  to  go  forward 
and  watch  the  eoupling-on  of  the  two  rear  cars  in  which 
Caesar  and  his  fortunes  were  to  travel.  Some  one  had 
lost  or  eaten  the  regularly  ordained  coupling,  and  a  man 
picked  up  from  the  tailboard  of  the  engine  a  single  iron 
link  about  as  thick  as  a  fetter-link  watch-chain,  and 
"  guessed  it  would  do."  Get  hauled  up  a  Simla  cliff  by 
the  hook  of  a  lady's  parasol  if  you  wish  to  appreciate 
my  sentiments  when  the  cars  moved  uphill  and  the  link 
drew  tight.  Miles  away  and  two  thousand  feet  above 
our  heads  rose  the  shoulder  of  a  hill  epauletted  with  the 
long  line  of  a  snow-tunnel.  The  first  section  of  the  cars 
crawled  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  us,  the  track  snaked 
and  looped  behind,  and  there  was  a  black  drop  to  the 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  135 

left.  So  we  went  up  and  up  and  up  till  the  thin  air 
grew  thinner  and  the  chunk-chunk-chunk,  of  the  labour- 
ing locomotive  was  answered  by  the  oppressed  beating 
of  the  exhausted  heart.  Through  the  chequed  light  and 
shade  of  the  snow  tunnels  (horrible  caverns  of  rude  tim- 
bering) we  ground  our  way,  halting  now  and  again  to 
allow  a  down-train  to  pass.  One  monster  of  forty  min- 
eral-cars slid  past,  scarce  held  by  four  locomotives,  their 
brakes  screaming  and  chortling  in  chorus ;  and  in  the 
end,  after  a  glimpse  at  half  America  spread  mapwise 
leagues  below  us,  we  halted  at  the  head  of  the  longest 
snow  tunnel  of  all,  on  the  crest  of  the  divide,  between 
ten  and  eleven  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
The  locomotive  wished  to  draw  breath,  and  the  passen- 
gers to  gather  the  flowers  that  nodded  impertinently 
through  the  chinks  of  the  boarding.  A  lady  passenger's 
nose  began  to  bleed,  and  other  ladies  threw  themselves 
down  on  the  seats  and  gasped  with  the  gasping  train, 
while  a  wind  as  keen  as  a  knife-edge  rioted  down  the 
grimy  tunnel. 

Then,  despatching  a  pilot-engine  to  clear  the  way,  we 
began  the  downward  portion  of  the  journey  with  every 
available  brake  on,  and  frequent  shrieks,  till  after  some 
hours  we  reached  the  level  plain,  and  later  the  city  of 
Denver,  where  the  Man  with  the  Sorrow  went  his  way 
and  left  me  to  journey  on  to  Omaha  alone,  after  one 
hasty  glance  at  Denver.  The  pulse  of  that  town  was  too 
like  the  rushing  mighty  wind  in  the  Rocky  Mountain 
tunnel.  It  made  me  tired  because  complete  strangers 
desired  me  to  do  something  to  mines  which  were  in 
mountains,  and  to  purchase  building  blocks  upon  inac- 
cessible cliffs;  and  once,  a  woman  urged  that  I  should 


136  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

supply  her  with  strong  drinks.  I  had  almost  forgotten 
that  such  attacks  were  possible  in  any  land,  for  the  out- 
ward and  visible  signs  of  public  morality  in  American 
towns  are  generally  safe-guarded.  For  that  I  respect 
this  people.  Omaha,  Nebraska,  was  but  a  halting-place 
on  the  road  to  Chicago,  but  it  revealed  to  me  horrors 
that  I  would  not  willingly  have  missed.  The  city  to 
casual  investigation  seemed  to  be  populated  entirely  by 
Germans,  Poles,  Slavs,  Hungarians,  Croats,  Magyars, 
and  all  the  scum  of  the  Eastern  European  States,  but 
it  must  have  been  laid  out  by  Americans.  No  other 
people  would  cut  the  traffic  of  a  main  street  with  two 
streams  of  railway  lines,  each  some  eight  or  nine  tracks 
wide,  and  cheerfully  drive  tram-cars  across  the  metals. 
Every  now  and  again  they  have  horrible  railway-crossing 
accidents  at  Omaha,  but  nobody  seems  to  think  of  build- 
ing an  overhead-bridge.  That  would  interfere  with  the 
vested  interests  of  the  undertakers. 

Be  blessed  to  hear  some  details  of  one  of  that  class. 

There  was  a  shop  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  seen 
before :  its  windows  were  filled  with  dress-coats  for  men, 
and  dresses  for  women.  But  the  studs  of  the  shirts 
were  made  of  stamped  cloth  upon  the  shirt  front,  and 
there  were  no  trousers  to  those  coats  —  nothing  but  a 
sweep  of  cheap  black  cloth  falling  like  an  abbe's  frock. 
In  the  doorway  sat  a  young  man  reading  Pollock's 
Course  of  Time,  and  by  that  I  knew  that  he  was  an  un- 
dertaker. His  name  was  Gring,  which  is  a  beautiful 
name,  and  I  talked  to  him  on  the  mysteries  of  his  Craft. 
He  was  an  enthusiast  and  an  artist.  I  told  him  how 
corpses  were  burnt  in  India.  Said  he  :  "  We're  vastly 
superior.  We  hold  — that  is  to  say,  embalm  —  our  dead. 


FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA  137 

So ! "  Whereupon  he  produced  the  horrible  weapons  of 
his  trade,  and  most  practically  showed  me  how  you 
"  held  "  a  man  back  from  that  corruption  which  is  his 
birthright.  "  And  I  wish  I  could  live  a  few  generations 
just  to  see  how  my  people  keep.  But  I'm  sure  it's  all 
right.  Nothing  can  touch'  em  after  I've  embalmed  'em." 
Then  he  displayed  one  of  those  ghastly  dress-suits,  and 
when  I  laid  a  shuddering  hand  upon  it,  behold  it  crum- 
pled to  nothing,  for  the  white  linen  was  sewn  on  to  the 
black  cloth  and  —  there  was  no  back  to  it!  That  was 
the  horror.  The  garment  was  a  shell.  "  We  dress  a 
man  in  that,"  said  Gring,  laying  it  out  tastily  on  the 
counter.  "  As  you  see  here,  our  caskets  have  a  plate- 
glass  window  in  front"  (Oh  me,  but  that  window  in  the 
coffin  was  fitted  with  plush  like  a  brougham-window !), 
"  and  you  don't  see  anything  below  the  level  of  the  man's 
waistcoat.  Consequently  .  .  ."  He  unrolled  the  terrible 
cheap  black  cloth  that  falls  down  over  the  stark  feet,  and 
I  jumped  back.  "  Of  course  a  man  can  be  dressed  in  his 
own  clothes  if  he  likes,  but  these  are  the  regular  things : 
and  for  women  look  at  this ! "  He  took  up  the  body  of  a 
high-necked  dinner-dress  in  subdued  lilac,  slashed  and 
puffed  and  bedeviled  with  black,  but,  like  the  dress-suit, 
backless,  and  below  the  waist  turning  to  shroud.  "  That's 
for  an  old  maid.  But  for  young  girls  we  give  white  with 
imitation  pearls  round  the  neck.  That  looks  very  pretty 
through  the  window  of  the  casket  —  you  see  there's  a 
cushion  for  the  head  —  with  flowers  banked  all  round." 
Can  you  imagine  anything  more  awful  than  to  take  your 
last  rest  as  much  of  a  dead  fraud  as  ever  you  were  a  liv- 
ing lie  —  to  go  into  the  darkness  one  half  of  you  shaved, 
trimmed  and  dressed  for  an  evening  party,  while  the 


138  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

other  half  —  the  half  that  your  friends  cannot  see  —  is 
enwrapped  in  a  napping  black  sheet  ? 

I  know  a  little  about  burial  customs  in  various  places 
in  the  world,  and  I  tried  hard  to  make  Mr.  Gring  com- 
prehend dimly  the  awful  heathendom  that  he  was  re- 
sponsible for  —  the  grotesquerie  —  the  giggling  horror  of 
it  all.  But  he  couldn't  see  it.  Even  when  he  showed  me 
a  little  boy's  last  suit,  he  couldn't  see  it.  He  said  it  was 
quite  right  to  embalm  and  trick  out  and  hypocritically 
bedizen  the  poor  innocent  dead  in  their  superior  cush- 
ioned and  pillowed  caskets  with  the  window  in  front. 

Bury  me  cased  in  canvas  like  a  fishing-rod,  in  the  deep 
sea ;  burn  me  on  a  back-water  of  the  Hughli  with  damp 
wood  and  no  oil ;  pin  me  under  a  Pullman  car  and  let 
the  lighted  stove  do  its  worst ;  sizzle  me  with  a  fallen 
electric  wire  or  whelm  me  in  the  sludge  of  a  broken 
river  dam  ;  but  may  I  never  go  down  to  the  Pit  grinning 
out  of  a  plate-glass  window,  in  a  backless  dress-coat,  and 
the  front  half  of  a  black  stuff  dressing-gown ;  not  though 
I  were  "  held  "  against  the  ravage  of  the  grave  for  ever 
and  ever.  Amen ! 


No.  XXXV 

HOW  I  STRUCK  CHICAGO,  AND  HOW  CHICAGO  STRUCK  ME. 
OF  RELIGION,  POLITICS,  AND  PIG-STICKING,  AND  THE 
INCARNATION  OF  THE  CITY  AMONG  SHAMBLES. 

"  I  know  thy  cunning  and  thy  greed, 
Thy  hard,  high  lust  and  wilful  deed, 
And  all  thy  glory  loves  to  tell 
Of  specious  gifts  material." 

I  HAVE  struck  a  city, — a  real  city,  —  and  they  call  it 
Chicago.  The  other  places  do  not  count.  San  Fran- 
cisco was  a  pleasure-resort  as  well  as  a  city,  and  Salt 
Lake  was  a  phenomenon.  This  place  is  the  first 
American  city  I  have  encountered.  It  holds  rather 
more  than  a  million  people  with  bodies,  and  stands  on 
the  same  sort  of  soil  as  Calcutta.  Having  seen  it,  I 
urgently  desire  never  to  see  it  again.  It  is  inhabited  by 
savages.  Its  water  is  the  water  of  the  Hugli,  and  its 
air  is  dirt.  Also  it  says  that  it  is  the  "boss"  town  of 
America. 

I  do  not  believe  that  it  has  anything  to  do  with  this 
country.  They  told  me  to  go  to  the  Palmer  House, 
which  is  a  gilded  and  mirrored  rabbit-warren,  and  there 
I  found  a  huge  hall  of  tessellated  marble,  crammed  with 
people  talking  about  money  and  spitting  about  every- 
where. Other  barbarians  charged  in  and  out  of  this 
inferno  with  letters  and  telegrams  in  their  hands,  and 

139 


140  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

yet  others  shouted  at  each  other.  A  man  who  had 
drunk  quite  as  much  as  was  good  for  him  told  me 
that  this  was  "the  finest  hotel  in  the  finest  city  on 
God  Almighty's  earth."  By  the  way,  when  an  American 
wishes  to  indicate  the  next  county  or  State  he  says, 
"  God  A'mighty's  earth."  This  prevents  discussion  and 
flatters  his  vanity. 

Then  I  went  out  into  the  streets,  which  are  long  and 
flat  and  without  end.  And  verily  it  is  not  a  good  thing 
to  live  in  the  East  for  any  length  of  time.  Your  ideas 
grow  to  clash  with  those  held  by  every  right-thinking 
white  man.  I  looked  down  interminable  vistas  flanked 
with  nine,  ten,  and  fifteen  storied  houses,  and  crowded 
with  men  and  women,  and  the  show  impressed  me  with 
a  great  horror.  Except  in  London  —  and  I  have  for- 
gotten what  London  is  like  —  I  had  never  seen  so 
many  white  people  together,  and  never  such  a  collection 
of  miserables.  There  was  no  colour  in  the  street  and  no 
beauty  —  only  a  maze  of  wire-ropes  overhead  and  dirty 
stone  flagging  underfoot.  A  cab-driver  volunteered  to 
show  me  the  glory  of  the  town  for  so  much  an  hour,  and 
with  him  I  wandered  far.  He  conceived  that  all  this 
turmoil  and  squash  was  a  thing  to  be  reverently  ad- 
mired ;  that  it  was  good  to  huddle  men  together  in  fifteen  < 
layers,  one  atop  of  the  other,  and  to  dig  holes  in  the 
ground  for  offices.  He  said  that  Chicago  was  a  live 
town,  and  that  all  the  creatures  hurrying  by  me  were 
engaged  in  business.  That  is  to  say,  they  were  trying 
to  make  some  money,  that  they  might  not  die  through 
lack  of  food  to  put  into  their  bellies.  He  took  me  to 
canals,  black  as  ink,  and  filled  with  untold  abomina- 
tions, and  bade  me  watch  the  stream  of  traffic  across  the 


FBOM  SEA  TO   SEA  141 

bridges.  He  then  took  me  into  a  saloon,  and,  while  I 
drank,  made  me  note  that  the  floor  was  covered  with 
coins  sunk  into  cement.  A  Hottentot  would  not  have 
been  guilty  of  this  sort  of  barbarism.  The  coins  made 
an  effect  pretty  enough,  but  the  man  who  put  them  there 
had  no  thought  to  beauty,  and  therefore  he  was  a  savage. 
Then  my  cab-driver  showed  me  business-blocks,  gay  with 
signs  and  studded  with  fantastic  and  absurd  advertise- 
ments of  goods,  and  looking  down  the  long  street  so 
adorned  it  was  as  though  each  vender  stood  at  his  door 
howling :  "  For  the  sake  of  money,  employ  or  buy  of  me 
and  me  only ! "  Have  you  ever  seen  a  crowd  at  our  famine 
relief  distributions  ?  You  know  then  how  men  leap  into 
the  air,  stretching  out  their  arms  above  the  crowd  in  the 
hope  of  being  seen ;  while  the  women  dolorously  slap 
the  stomachs  of  their  children  and  whimper.  I  had 
sooner  watch  famine-relief  than  the  white  man  engaged 
in  what  he  calls  legitimate  competition.  The  one  I 
understand.  The  other  makes  me  ill.  And  the  cabman 
said  that  these  things  were  the  proof  of  progress ;  and 
by  that  I  knew  he  had  been  reading  his  newspaper,  as 
every  intelligent  American  should.  The  papers  tell 
their  readers  in  language  fitted  to  their  comprehension 
that  the  snarling  together  of  telegraph  wires,  the  heaving 
up  of  houses,  and  the  making  of  money  is  progress. 

I  spent  ten  hours  in  that  huge  wilderness,  wandering 
through  scores  of  miles  of  these  terrible  streets,  and  jos- 
tling some  few  hundred  thousand  of  these  terrible  people 
who  talked  money  through  their  noses.  The  cabman 
left  me :  but  after  a  while  I  picked  up  another  man  who 
was  full  of  figures,  and  into  my  ears  he  poured  them  as 
occasion  required  or  the  big  blank  factories  suggested. 


142  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

Here  they  turned  out  so  many  hundred  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  such  and  such  an  article ;  there  so  many  million 
other  things ;  this  house  was  worth  so  many  million  dol- 
lars ;  that  one  so  many  million  more  or  less.  It  was  like 
listening  to  a  child  babbling  of  its  hoard  of  shells.  It 
was  like  watching  a  fool  playing  with  buttons.  But  I 
was  expected  to  do  more  than  listen  or  watch.  He  de- 
manded that  I  should  admire;  and  the  utmost  that  I 
could  say  was :  "  Are  these  things  so  ?  Then  I  am  very 
sorry  for  you."  That  made  him  angry,  and  he  said  that 
insular  envy  made  me  unresponsive.  So  you  see  I  could 
not  make  him  understand. 

About  four  and  a  half  hours  after  Adam  was  turned 
out  of  the  garden  of  Eden  he  felt  hungry,  and  so,  bidding 
Eve  take  care  that  her  head  was  not  broken  by  the  de- 
scending fruit,  shinned  up  a  cocoanut  palm.  That  hurt 
his  legs,  cut  his  breast,  and  made  him  breathe  heavily, 
and  Eve  was  tormented  with  fear  lest  her  lord  should 
miss  his  footing  and  so  bring  the  tragedy  of  this  world 
to  an  end  ere  the  curtain  had  fairly  risen.  Had  I  met 
Adam  then,  I  should  have  been  sorry  for  him.  To-day  I 
find  eleven  hundred  thousand  of  his  sons  just  as  far 
advanced  as  their  father  in  the  art  of  getting  food,  and 
immeasurably  inferior  to  him  in  that  they  think  that 
their  palm-trees  lead  straight  to  the  skies.  Consequently 
I  am  sorry  in  rather  more  than  a  million  different  ways. 
In  our  East  bread  comes  naturally  even  to  the  poorest  by 
a  little  scratching  or  the  gift  of  a  friend  not  quite  so  poor. 
In  less  favoured  countries  one  is  apt  to  forget.  Then  I 
went  to  bed.  And  that  was  on  a  Saturday  night. 

Sunday  brought  me  the  queerest  experience  of  all  —  a 
revelation  of  barbarism  complete.  I  found  a  place  that 


FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA  143 

was  officially  described  as  a  church.  It  was  a  circus  really, 
but  that  the  worshippers  did  not  know.  There  were  flow- 
ers all  about  the  building,  which  was  fitted  up  with  plush 
and  stained  oak  and  much  luxury,  including  twisted  brass 
candlesticks  of  severest  Gothic  design.  To  these  things, 
and  a  congregation  of  savages,  entered  suddenly  a  wonder- 
ful man  completely  in  the  confidence  of  their  God,  whom 
he  treated  colloquially  and  exploited  very  much  as  a 
newspaper  reporter  would  exploit  a  foreign  potentate. 
But,  unlike  the  newspaper  reporter,  he  never  allowed  his 
listeners  to  forget  that  he  and  not  He  was  the  centre  of 
attraction.  With  a  voice  of  silver  and  with  imagery 
borrowed  from  the  auction-room,  he  built  up  for  his 
hearers  a  heaven  on  the  lines  of  the  Palmer  House  (but 
with  all  the  gilding  real  gold  and  all  the  plate-glass 
diamond)  and  set  in  the  centre  of  it  a  loud-voiced,  argu- 
mentative, and  very  shrewd  creation  that  he  called  God. 
One  sentence  at  this  point  caught  my  delighted  ear.  It 
was  apropos  of  some  question  of  the  Judgment  Day  and 
ran :  "No !  I  tell  you  God  doesn't  do  business  that  way." 
He  was  giving  them  a  deity  whom  they  could  compre- 
hend, in  a  gold  and  jewel  heaven  in  which  they  could 
take  a  natural  interest.  He  interlarded  his  performance 
with  the  slang  of  the  streets,  the  counter,  and  the  Ex- 
change, and  he  said  that  religion  ought  to  enter  into 
daily  life.  Consequently  I  presume  he  introduced  it 
as  daily  life  —  his  own  and  the  life  of  his  friends. 

Then  I  escaped  before  the  blessing,  desiring  no  bene- 
diction at  such  hands.  But  the  persons  who  listened 
seemed  to  enjoy  themselves,  and  I  understood  that  I  had 
met  with  a  popular  preacher.  Later  on  when  I  had 
perused  the  sermons  of  a  gentleman  called  Talmage  and 


144  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

some  others,  I  perceived  that.  I  had  been  listening  to 
a  very  mild  specimen.  Yet  that  man,  with  Ids  brutal 
gold  and  silver  idols,  his  hands-in-pocket,  cigar-in-mouth, 
and  hat-on-the-back-of-the-head  style  of  dealing  with  the 
sacred  vessels  would  count  himself  spiritually  quite 
competent  to  send  a  mission  to  convert  the  Indians.  All 
that  Sunday  I  listened  to  people  who  said  that  the  mere 
fact  of  spiking  down  strips  of  iron  to  wood  and  getting 
a  steam  and  iron  thing  to  run  along  them  was  progress. 
That  the  telephone  was  progress,  and  the  network  of 
wires  overhead  was  progress.  They  repeated  their  state- 
ments again  and  again.  One  of  them  took  me  to  their 
city  hall  and  board  of  trade  works  and  pointed  it  out 
with  pride.  It  was  very  ugly,  but  very  big,  and  the 
streets  in  front  of  it  were  narrow  and  unclean.  When 
I  saw  the  faces  of  the  men  who  did  business  in  that 
building  I  felt  that  there  had  been  a  mistake  in  their 
billeting. 

By  the  way,  'tis  a  consolation  to  feel  that  I  am  not 
writing  to  an  English  audience.  Then  should  I  have  to 
fall  into  feigned  ecstasies  over  the  marvellous  progress 
of  Chicago  since  the  days  of  the  great  fire,  to  allude 
casually  to  the  raising  of  the  entire  city  so  many  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  lake  which  it  faces,  and  generally 
to  grovel  before  the  golden  calf.  But  you,  who  are 
desperately  poor,  and  therefore  by  these  standards  of  no 
account,  know  things,  and  will  understand  when  I  write 
that  they  have  managed  to  get  a  million  of  men  to- 
gether on  flat  land,  and  that  the  bulk  of  these  men 
appear  to  be  lower  than  mahajans  and  not  so  companion- 
able as  a  punjabi  jat  after  harvest.  But  I  don't  think 
it  was  the  blind  hurry  of  the  people,  their  argot,  and  their 


FEOM  SEA   TO   SEA  145 

grand  ignorance  of  things  beyond  their  immediate  inter- 
ests that  displeased  me  so  much  as  a  study  of  the  daily 
papers  of  Chicago.  Imprimis,  there  was  some  sort  of 
dispute  between  New  York  and  Chicago  as  to  which 
town  should  give  an  exhibition  of  products  to  be  here- 
after holden,  and  through  the  medium  of  their  more 
dignified  journals  the  two  cities  were  ya-hooing  and  hi- 
yi-ing  at  each  other  like  opposition  newsboys.  They 
called  it  humour,  but  it  sounded  like  something  quite 
different.  That  was  only  the  first  trouble.  The  second 
lay  in  the  tone  of  the  productions.  Leading  articles 
which  include  gems  such  as:  "Back  of  such  and  such 
a  place,"  or  "  We  noticed,  Tuesday,  such  an  event,"  or 
"don't"  for  "does  not"  are  things  to  be  accepted  with 
thankfulness.  All  that  made  me  want  to  cry  was  that, 
in  these  papers,  were  faithfully  reproduced  all  the  war- 
cries  and  "  back-talk "  of  the  Palmer  House  bar,  the 
slang  of  the  barbers'  shops,  the  mental  elevation  and 
integrity  of  the  Pullman-car  porter,  the  dignity  of  the 
Dime  Museum,  and  the  accuracy  of  the  excited  fishwife. 
I  am  sternly  forbidden  to  believe  that  the  paper  educates 
the  public.  Then  I  am  compelled  to  believe  that  the 
public  educate  the  paper? 

Just  when  the  sense  of  unreality  and  oppression  were 
strongest  upon  me,  and  when  I  most  wanted  help,  a  man 
sat  at  my  side  and  began  to  talk  what  he  called  politics. 
I  had  chanced  to  pay  about  six  shillings  for  a  travelling- 
cap  worth  eighteen  pence,  and  he  made  of  the  fact  a  text 
for  a  sermon.  He  said  that  this  was  a  rich  country  and 
that  the  people  liked  to  pay  two  hundred  per  cent  on  the 
value  of  a  thing.  They  could  afford  it.  He  said  that 
the  Government  imposed  a  protective  duty  of  from  ten 

VOL.  II  — L 


146  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

to  seventy  per  cent  on  foreign-made  articles,  and  that 
the  American  manufacturer  consequently  could  sell  his 
goods  for  a  healthy  sum.  Thus  an  imported  hat  would, 
with  duty,  cost  two  guineas.  The  American  manufac- 
turer would  make  a  hat  for  seventeen  shillings  and  sell 
it  for  one  pound  fifteen.  In  these  things,  he  said,  lay 
the  greatness  of  America  and  the  effeteness  of  England. 
Competition  between  factory  and  factory  kept  the  prices 
down  to  decent  limits,  but  I  was  never  to  forget  that  this 
people  were  a  rich  people,  not  like  the  pauper  Conti- 
nentals, and  that  they  enjoyed  paying  duties.  To  my 
weak  intellect  this  seemed  rather  like  juggling  with 
counters.  Everything  that  I  have  yet  purchased  costs 
about  twice  as  much  as  it  would  in  England,  and  when 
native-made  is  of  inferior  quality.  Moreover,  since  these 
lines  were  first  thought  of  I  have  visited  a  gentleman 
who  owned  a  factory  which  used  to  produce  things.  He 
owned  the  factory  still.  Not  a  man  was  in  it,  but  he 
was  drawing  a  handsome  income  from  a  syndicate  of 
firms  for  keeping  it  closed  in  order  that  it  might  not 
produce  things.  This  man  said  that  if  protection  were 
abandoned,  a  tide  of  pauper  labour  would  flood  the  coun- 
try, and  as  I  looked  at  his  factory  I  thought  how  entirely 
better  it  was  to  have  no  labour  of  any  kind  whatever, 
rather  than  face  s.o  horrible  a  future.  Meantime,  do 
you  remember  that  this  peculiar  country  enjoys  paying 
money  for  value  not  received.  I  am  an  alien,  and  for 
the  life  of  me  cannot  see  why  six  shillings  should  be 
paid  for  eighteen-penny  caps,  or  eight  shillings  for  half- 
crown  cigar-cases.  When  the  country  fills  up  to  a  de- 
cently populated  level  a  few  million  people  who  are  not 
aliens  will  be  smitten  with  the  same  sort  of  blindness. 


FBOM   SEA  TO   SEA  147 

But  my  friend's  assertion  somehow  thoroughly  suited 
the  grotesque  ferocity  of  Chicago.  See  now  and  judge  ! 
In  the  village  of  Isser  Jang  on  the  road  to  Montgomery 
there  be  four  changar  women  who  winnow  corn  —  some 
seventy  bushels  a  year.  Beyond  their  hut  lives  Puran 
Dass,  the  money-lender,  who  on  good  security  lends 
as  much  as  five  thousand  rupees  in  a  year.  Jowala 
Singh,  the  lohar,  mends  the  village  ploughs  —  some 
thirty,  broken  at  the  share,  in  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days;  and  Hukm  Chund,  who  is  letter-writer  and 
head  of  the  little  club  under  the  travellers'  tree,  generally 
keeps  the  village  posted  in  such  gossip  as  the  barber  and 
the  midwife  have  not  yet  made  public  property.  Chicago 
husks  and  winnows  her  wheat  by  the  million  bushels,  a 
hundred  banks  lend  hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars  in 
the  year,  and  scores  of  factories  turn  out  plough  gear 
and  machinery  by  steam.  Scores  of  daily  papers  do 
work  which  Hukm  Chund  and  the  barber  and  the  mid- 
wife perform,  with  due  regard  for  public  opinion,  in  the 
village  of .  Isser  Jang.  So  far  as  manufactures  go,  the 
difference  between  Chicago  on  the  lake  and  Isser  Jang 
on  the  Montgomery  road  is  one  of  degree  only,  and  not  of 
kind.  As  far  as  the  understanding  of  the  uses  of  life 
goes  Isser  Jang,  for  all  its  seasonal  cholera,  has  the 
advantage  over  Chicago.  Jowala  Singh  knows  and  takes 
care  to  avoid  the  three  or  four  ghoul-haunted  fields  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  village ;  but  he  is  not  urged  by 
millions  of  devils  to  run  about  all  day  in  the  sun  and 
swear  that  hia  ploughshares  are  the  best  in  the  Punjab; 
nor  does  Puran  Dass  fly  forth  in  a  cart  more  than 
once  or  twice  a  year,  and  he  knows,  on  a  pinch,  how 
to  use  the  railway  and  the  telegraph  as  well  as  any  son 


148  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

of  Israel  in  Chicago.  But  this  is  absurd.  The  East  is 
not  the  West,  and  these  men  must  continue  to  deal  with 
the  machinery  of  life,  and  to  call  it  progress.  Their 
very  preachers  dare  not  rebuke  them.  They  gloss  over 
the  hunting  for  money  and  the  twice-sharpened  bitter- 
ness of  Adam's  curse  by  saying  that  such  things  dower  a 
man  with  a  larger  range  of  thoughts  and  higher  aspira- 
tions. They  do  not  say:  "Free  yourself  from  your 
own  slavery,"  but  rather,  "  If  you  can  possibly  manage 
it,  do  not  set  quite  so  much  store  on  the  things  of  this 
world."  And  they  do  not  know  what  the  things  of  this 
world  are. 

I  went  off  to  see  cattle  killed  by  way  of  clearing  my 
head,  which,  as  you  will  perceive,  was  getting  muddled. 
They  say  every  Englishman  goes  to  the  Chicago  stock- 
yards. You  shall  find  them  about  six  miles  from  the 
city;  and  once  having  seen  them  will  never  forget  the 
sight.  As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  stretches  a  township 
of  cattle-pens,  cunningly  divided  into  blocks  so  that  the 
animals  of  any  pen  can  be  speedily  driven  out  close  to 
an  inclined  timber  path  which  leads  to  an  elevated  cov- 
ered way  straddling  high  above  the  pens.  These  via- 
ducts are  two-storied.  On  the  upper  storey  tramp  the 
doomed  cattle,  stolidly  for  the  most  part.  On  the 
lower,  with  a  scuffling  of  sharp  hooves  and  multitudi- 
nous yells,  run  the  pigs.  The  same  end  is  appointed 
for  each.  Thus  you  will  see  the  gangs  of  cattle  wait- 
ing their  turn — as  they  wait  sometimes  for  days;  and 
they  need  not  be  distressed  by  the  sight  of  their  fellows 
running  about  in  the  fear  of  death.  All  they  know  is 
that  a  man  on  horseback  causes  their  next-door  -neigh- 
bours to  move  by  means  of  a  whip.  Certain  bars  and 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  149 

fences  are  unshipped,  and,  behold,  that  crowd  have  gone 
up  the  mouth  of  a  sloping  tunnel  and  return  no  more. 
It  is  different  with  the  pigs.  They  shriek  back  the 
news  of  the  exodus  to  their  friends,  and  a  hundred  pens 
skirl  responsive.  It  was  to  the  pigs  I  first  addressed 
myself.  Selecting  a  viaduct  which  was  full  of  them,  as 
I  could  hear  though  I  could  not  see,  I  marked  a  sombre 
building  whereto  it  ran,  and  went  there,  not  unalarmed 
by  stray  cattle  who  had  managed  to  escape  from  their 
proper  quarters.  A  pleasant  smell  of  brine  warned  me 
of  what  was  coming.  I  entered  the  factory  and  found 
it  full  of  pork  in  barrels,  and  on  another  storey  more 
pork  unbarrelled,  and  in  a  huge  room,  the  halves  of 
swine  for  whose  use  great  lumps  of  ice  were  being 
pitched  in  at  the  window.  That  room  was  the  mortuary 
chamber  where  the  pigs  lie  for  a  little  while  in  state 
ere  they  begin  their  progress  through  such  passages  as 
kings  may  sometimes  travel.  Turning  a  corner  and  not 
noting  an  overhead  arrangement  of  greased  rail,  wheel, 
and  pulley,  I  ran  into  the  arms  of  four  eviscerated  car- 
casses, all  pure  white  and  of  a  human  aspect,  being 
pushed  by  a  man  clad  in  vehement  red.  When  I  leaped 
aside,  the  floor  was  slippery  under  me.  There  was  a 
flavour  of  farmyard  in  my  nostrils  and  the  shouting  of 
a  multitude  in  my  ears.  But  there  was  no  joy  in  that 
shouting.  Twelve  men  stood  in  two  lines  —  six  a-side. 
Between  them  and  overhead  ran  the  railway  of  death 
that  had  nearly  shunted  me  through  the  window.  Each 
man  carried  a  knife,  the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  were  cut  off 
at  the  elbows,  and  from  bosom  to  heel  he  was  blood- 
red.  The  atmosphere  was  stifling  as  a  night  in  the 
Rains,  by  reason  of  the  steam  and  the  crowd.  I 


150  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

climbed  to  the  beginning  of  things  and,  perched  upon 
a  narrow  beam,  overlooked  very  nearly  all  the  pigs 
ever  bred  in  Wisconsin.  They  had  just  been  shot  out 
of  the  mouth  of  the  viaduct  and  huddled  together  in 
a  large  pen.  Thence  they  were  flicked  persuasively, 
a  few  at  a  time,  into  a  smaller  chamber,  and  there  a 
man  fixed  tackle  on  their  hinder  legs  so  that  they 
rose  in  the  air  suspended  from  the  railway  of  death. 
Oh !  it  was  then  they  shrieked  and  called  on  their 
mothers  and  made  promises  of  amendment,  till  the 
tackle-man  punted  them  in  their  backs,  and  they  slid 
head  down  into  a  brick-floored  passage,  very  like  a  big 
kitchen  sink  that  was  blood-red.  There  awaited  them 
a  red  man  with  a  knife  which  he  passed  jauntily 
through  their  throats,  and  the  full-voiced  shriek  became 
a  sputter,  and  then  a  fall  as  of  heavy  tropical  rain. 
The  red  man  who  was  backed  against  the  passage 
wall  stood  clear  of  the  wildly  kicking  hoofs  and  passed 
his  hand  over  his  eyes,  not  from  any  feeling  of  com- 
passion, but  because  the  spurted  blood  was  in  his  eyes, 
and  he  had  barely  time  to  stick  the  next  arrival.  Then 
that  first  stuck  swine  dropped,  still  kicking,  into  a  great 
vat  of  boiling  water,  and  spoke  no  more  words,  but 
wallowed  in  obedience  to  some  unseen  machinery,  and 
presently  came  forth  at  the  lower  end  of  the  vat  and 
was  heaved  on  the  blades  of  a  blunt  paddle-wheel-thing 
which  said,  "  Hough !  Hough !  Hough ! "  and  skelped  all 
the  hair  off  him  except  what  little  a  couple  of  men  with 
knives  could  remove.  Then  he  was  again  hitched  by 
the  heels  to  that  said  railway  and  passed  down  the 
line  of  the  twelve  men  —  each  man  with  a  knife  — 
leaving  with  each  man  a  certain  amount  of  his  indi- 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  151 

viduality  which  was  taken  away  in  a  wheel-barrow,  and 
when  he  reached  the  last  man  he  was  very  beautiful  to 
behold,  but  immensely  unstuffed  and  limp.  Prepon- 
derance of  individuality  was  ever  a  bar  to  foreign  travel. 
That  pig  could  have  been  in  no  case  to  visit  you  in 
India  had  he  not  parted  with  some  of  his  most  cherished 
notions. 

The  dissecting  part  impressed  me  not  so  much  as  the 
slaying.  They  were  so  excessively  alive,  these  pigs. 
And  then  they  were  so  excessively  dead,  and  the  man 
in  the  dripping,  clammy,  hot  passage  did  not  seem  to 
care,  and  ere  the  blood  of  such  an  one  had  ceased  to 
foam  on  the  floor,  such  another,  and  four  friends  with 
him,  had  shrieked  and  died.  But  a  pig  is  only  the 
Unclean  animal  —  forbidden  by  the  Prophet. 

I  was  destined  to  make  rather  a  queer  discovery  when 
I  went  over  to  the  cattle-slaughter.  All  the  buildings 
here  were  on  a  much  larger  scale,  and  there  was  no  sound 
of  trouble,  but  I  could  smell  the  salt  reek  of  blood  before 
I  set  foot  in  the  place.  The  cattle  did  not  come  directly 
through  the  viaduct  as  the  pigs  had  done.  They  de- 
bouched into  a  yard  by  the  hundred,  and  they  were  big  red 
brutes  carrying  much  flesh.  In  the  centre  of  that  yard 
stood  a  red  Texan  steer  with  a  headstall  on  his  wicked 
head.  No  man  controlled  him.  He  was,  so  to  speak,  pick- 
ing his  teeth  and  whistling  in  an  open  byre  of  his  own 
when  the  cattle  arrived.  As  soon  as  the  first  one  had  fear- 
fully quitted  the  viaduct,  this  red  devil  put  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  slouched  across  the  yard,  no  man  guid- 
ing him.  Then  he  lowed  something  to  the  effect  that  he 
was  the  regularly  appointed  guide  of  the  establishment 
and  would  show  them  round.  They  were  country  folk, 


152  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

but  they  knew  how  to  behave;  and  so  followed  Judas 
some  hundred  strong,  patiently,  and  with  a  look  of  bland 
wonder  in  their  faces.  I  saw  his  broad  back  jogging  in 
advance  of  them,  up  a  lime-washed  incline  where  I 
was  forbidden  to  follow.  Then  a  door  shut,  and  in  a 
minute  back  came  Judas  with  the  air  of  a  virtuous 
plough-bullock  and  took  up  his  place  in  his  byre.  Some- 
body laughed  across  the  yard,  but  I  heard  no  sound  of 
cattle  from  the  big  brick  building  into  which  the  mob 
had  disappeared.  Only  Judas  chewed  the  cud  with  a 
malignant  satisfaction,  and  so  I  knew  there  was  trouble, 
and  ran  round  to  the  front  of  the  factory  and  so  entered 
and  stood  aghast. 

Who  takes  count  of  the  prejudices  which  we  absorb 
through  the  skin  by  way  of  our  surroundings  ?  It  was 
not  the  spectacle  that  impressed  me.  The  first  thought 
that  almost  spoke  itself  aloud  was:  "They  are  kill- 
ing kine ; "  and  it  was  a  shock.  The  pigs  were  nobody's 
concern,  but  cattle  —  the  brothers  of  the  Cow,  the  Sacred 
Cow  —  were  quite  otherwise.  The  next  time  an  M.P. 
tells  me  that  India  either  Sultanises  or  Brahminises  a 
man,  I  shall  believe  about  half  what  he  says.  It  is  un- 
pleasant to  watch  the  slaughter  of  cattle  when  one  has 
laughed  at  the  notion  for  a  few  years.  I  could  not  see 
actually  what  was  done  in  the  first  instance,  because  the 
row  of  stalls  in  which  they  lay  was  separated  from  me 
by  fifty  impassable  feet  of  butchers  and  slung  carcasses. 
All  I  know  is  that  men  swung  open  the  doors  of  a  stall 
as  occasion  required,  and  there  lay  two  steers  already 
stunned,  and  breathing  heavily.  These  two  they  pole- 
axed,  and  half  raising  them  by  tackle  they  cut  their 
throats.  Two  men  skinned  each  carcase,  somebody  cut 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  153 

off  the  head,  and  in  half  a  minute  more  the  overhead 
rail  carried  two  sides  of  beef  to  their  appointed  place. 
There  was  clamour  enough  in  the  operating  room,  but 
from  the  waiting  cattle,  invisible  on  the  other  side  of 
the  line  of  pens,  never  a  sound.  They  went  to  their 
death,  trusting  Judas,  without  a  word.  They  were  slain 
at  the  rate  of  five  a  minute,  and  if  the  pig  men  were 
spattered  with  blood,  the  cow  butchers  were  bathed  in  it. 
The  blood  ran  in  muttering  gutters.  There  was  no  place 
for  hand  or  foot  that  was  not  coated  with  thicknesses  of 
dried  blood,  and  the  stench  of  it  in  the  nostrils  bred  fear. 

And  then  the  same  merciful  Providence  that  has  show- 
ered good  things  on  my  path  throughout  sent  me  an 
embodiment  of  the  city  of  Chicago,  so  that  I  might 
remember  it  forever.  Women  come  sometimes  to  see 
the  slaughter,  as  they  would  come  to  see  the  slaughter 
of  men.  And  there  entered  that  vermilion  hall  a  young 
woman  of  large  mould,  with  brilliantly  scarlet  lips,  and 
heavy  eyebrows,  and  dark  hair  that  came  in  a  "  widow's 
peak  "  on  the  forehead.  She  was  well  and  healthy  and 
alive,  and  she  was  dressed  in  flaming  red  and  black, 
and  her  feet  (know  you  that  the  feet  of  American 
women  are  like  unto  the  feet  of  fairies  ?)  her  feet,  I 
say,  were  cased  in  red  leather  shoes.  She  stood  in  a 
patch  of  sunlight,  the  red  blood  under  her  shoes,  the 
vivid  carcasses  tacked  round  her,  a  bullock  bleeding  its 
life  away  not  six  feet  away  from  her,  and  the  death 
factory  roaring  all  round  her.  She  looked  curiously, 
with  hard,  bold  eyes,  and  was  not  ashamed. 

Then  said  I :  "  This  is  a  special  Sending.  I  have 
seen  the  City  of  Chicago."  And  I  went  away  to  get 
peace  and  rest. 


No.   XXXVI 

HOW   I    FOUND    PEACE    AT    MUSQUASH    ON    THE 
MONOXGAHELA. 

"Prince,  blown  by  many  a  western  breeze 
Our  vessels  greet  you  treasure-laden  ; 
We  send  them  all  —  but  best  of  these 
A  free  and  frank  young  Yankee  maiden." 

IT  is  a  mean  thing  and  an  unhandsome  to  "  do "  a 
continent  in  five-hundred-mile  jumps.  But  after  those 
swine  and  bullocks  at  Chicago  I  felt  that  complete 
change  of  air  would  be  good.  The  United  States  at 
present  hinge  in  or  about  Chicago,  as  a  double-leaved 
screen  hinges.  To  be  sure,  the  tiny  New  England  States 
call  a  trip  to  Pennsylvania  "  going  west,"  but  the  larger- 
minded  citizen  seems  to  reckon  his  longitude  from  Chi- 
cago. Twenty  years  hence  the  centre  of  population 
—  that  shaded  square  on  the  census  map  —  will  have 
shifted,  men  say,  far  west  of  Chicago.  Twenty  years 
later  it  will  be  on  the  Pacific  slope.  Twenty  years 
after  that  America  will  begin  to  crowd  up,  and  there 
will  be  some  trouble.  People  will  demand  manufactured 
goods  for  their  reduced-establishment  households  at  the 
cheapest  possible  rates,  and  the  cry  that  the  land  is 
rich  enough  to  afford  protection  will  cease  with  a  great 
abruptness.  At  present  it  is  the  farmer  who  pays  most 
dearly  for  the  luxury  of  high  prices.  In  the  old  days, 

154 


FROM  SEA  TO  SEA  155 

when  the  land  was  fresh  and  there  was  plenty  of  it 
and  it  cropped  like  the  garden  of  Eden,  he  did  not  mind 
paying.  Now  there  is  not  so  much  free  land,  and  the 
old  acres  are  needing  stimulants,  which  cost  money,  and 
the  farmer,  who  pays  for  everything,  is  beginning  to  ask 
questions.  Also  the  great  American  nation,  which  indi- 
vidually never  shuts  a  door  behind  its  noble  self,  very 
seldom  attempts  to  put  back  anything  that  it  has  taken 
from  Nature's  shelves.  It  grabs  all  it  can  and  moves  on. 
But  the  moving-on  is  nearly  finished  and  the  grabbing 
must  stop,  and  then  the  Federal  Government  will  have 
to  establish  a  Woods  and  Forests  Department  the  like  of 
which  was  never  seen  in  the  world  before.  And  all  the  peo- 
ple who  have  been  accustomed  to  hack,  mangle,  and  burn 
timber  as  they  please  will  object,  with  shots  and  protes- 
tations, to  this  infringement  of  their  rights.  The  nigger 
will  breed  bounteously,  and  Tie  will  have  to  be  reckoned 
with;  and  the  manufacturer  will  have  to  be  contented 
with  smaller  profits,  and  he  will  have  to  be  reckoned  with ; 
and  the  railways  will  no  longer  rule  the  countries 
through  which  they  run,  and  they  will  have  to  be  reck- 
oned with.  And  nobody  will  approve  of  it  in  the  least. 

Yes ;  it  will  be  a  spectacle  for  all  the  world  to  watch, 
this  big,  slashing  colt  of  a  nation,  that  has  got  off  with 
a  flying  start  on  a  freshly  littered  course,  being  pulled 
back  to  the  ruck  by  that  very  mutton-fisted  jockey  Neces- 
sity. There  will  be  excitement  in  America  when  a  few 
score  millions  of  "  sovereigns  "  discover  that  what  they 
considered  the  outcome  of  their  own  Government  is  but 
the  rapidly  diminishing  bounty  of  Nature ;  and  that  if 
they  want  to  get  on  comfortably  they  must  tackle  every 
single  problem  from  labour  to  finance  humbly,  without 


156  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

gasconade,  and  afresh.  But  at  present  they  look  "that 
all  the  to-morrows  shall  be  as  to-day,"  and  if  you  argue 
with  them  they  say  that  the  Democratic  Idea  will  keep 
things  going.  They  believe  in  that  Idea,  and  the  less 
well-informed  fortify  themselves  in  their  belief  by  curi- 
ous assertions  as  to  the  despotism  that  exists  in  Eng- 
land. This  is  pure  provincialism,  of  course;  but  it  is 
very  funny  to  listen  to,  especially  when  you  compare  the 
theory  with  the  practice  (pistol,  chiefly)  as  proven  in 
the  newspapers.  I  have  striven  to  find  out  where  the 
central  authority  of  the  land  lies.  It  isn't  at  Washing- 
ton, because  the  Federal  Government  can't  do  anything 
to  the  States  save  run  the  mail  and  collect  a  Federal 
tax  or  two.  It  isn't  in  the  States,  because  the  town- 
ships can  do  as  they  like ;  and  it  isn't  in  the  townships, 
because  these  are  bossed  by  alien  voters  or  rings  of 
patriotic  homebred  citizens.  And  it  certainly  is  not 
in  the  citizens,  because  they  are  governed  and  coerced 
by  despotic  power  of  public  opinion  as  represented  by 
their  papers,  preachers,  or  local  society.  I  found  one 
man  who  told  me  that  if  anything  went  wrong  in  this 
huge  congress  of  kings,  —  if  there  was  a  split  or  an 
upheaval  or  a  smash,  —  the  people  in  detail  would  be 
subject  to  the  Idea  of  the  sovereign  people  in  mass. 
This  is  a  survival  from  the  Civil  War,  when,  you  remem- 
ber, the  people  in  a  majority  did  with  guns  and  swords 
slay  and  wound  the  people  in  detail.  All  the  same,  the 
notion  seems  very  much  like  the  worship  by  the  savage 
of  the  unloaded  rifle  as  it  leans  against  the  wall. 

But  the  men  and  women  set  Us  an  example  in  patriot- 
ism. They  believe  in  their  land  and  its  future,  and  its 
honour,  and  its  glory,  and  they  are  not  ashamed  to  say  so. 


FROM  SEA  TO   SEA  157 

From  the  largest  to  the  least  runs  this  same  proud,  pas- 
sionate conviction  to  which  I  take  off  my  hat  and  for 
which  I  love  them.  An  average  English  householder 
seems  to  regard  his  country  as  an  abstraction  to  supply 
him  with  policemen  and  fire-brigades.  The  cockney  cad 
cannot  understand  what  the  word  means.  The  bloomin' 
toffs  he  knows,  and  the  law,  and  the  soldiers  that  supply 
him  with  a  spectacle  in  the  Parks ;  but  he  would  laugh 
in  your  face  at  the  notion  of  any  duty  being  owed  by 
himself  to  his  land.  Pick  an  American  of  the  second 
generation  anywhere  you  please  —  from  the  cab-rank, 
the  porter's  room,  or  the  plough-tail,  —  'specially  the 
plough-tail,  —  and  that  man  will  make  you  understand 
in  five  minutes  that  he  understands  what  manner  of 
thing  his  Republic  is.  He  might  laugh  at  a  law  that 
didn't  suit  his  convenience,  draw  your  eye-teeth  in  a 
bargain,  and  applaud  'cuteness  on  the  outer  verge  of 
swindling :  but  you  should  hear  him  stand  up  and 

sing :  — 

"  My  country  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 
Of  thee  I  sing  !" 

I  have  heard  a  few  thousand  of  them  engaged  in  that 
employment.  I  respect  him.  There  is  too  much  Romeo 
and  too  little  balcony  about  our  National  Anthem.  With 
the  American  article  it  is  all  balcony.  There  must  be  born 
a  poet  who  shall  give  the  English  the  song  of  their  own, 
own  country — which  is  to  say,  of  about  half  the  world. 
Remains  then  only  to  compose  the  greatest  song  of  all  — 
The  Saga  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  all  round  the  earth  —  a 
paean  that  shall  combine  the  terrible  slow  swing  of  the 
Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic  (which,  if  you  know  not, 


158  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

get  chanted  to  you)  with  Britannia  needs  no  Bulwarks, 
the  skirl  of  the  British  Grenadiers  with  that  perfect 
quickstep,  Marching  through  Georgia,  and  at  the  end 
the  wail  of  the  Dead  March.  For  We,  even  We  who 
share  the  earth  between  us  as  no  gods  have  ever  shared 
it,  we  also  are  mortal  in  the  matter  of  our  single  selves. 
Will  any  one  take  the  contract  ? 

It  was  with  these  rambling  notions  that  I  arrived  at 
the  infinite  peace  of  the  tiny  township  of  Musquash  on 
the  Monongahela  Eiver.  The  clang  and  tumult  of  Chi- 
cago belonged  to  another  world.  Imagine  a  rolling, 
wooded,  English  landscape,  under  softest  of  blue  skies, 
dotted  at  three-mile  intervals  with  fat  little,  quiet  little 
villages,  or  aggressive  little  manufacturing  towns  that 
the  trees  and  the  folds  of  the  hills  mercifully  prevented 
from  betraying  their  presence.  The  golden-rod  blazed  in 
the  pastures  against  the  green  of  the  mulleins,  and  the 
cows  picked  their  way  home  through  the  twisted  paths 
between  the  blackberry  bushes.  All  summer  was  on  the 
orchards,  and  the  apples  —  such  apples  as  we  dream  of 
when  we  eat  the  woolly  imitations  of  Kashmir  —  were 
ripe  and  toothsome.  It  was  good  to  lie  in  a  hammock 
with  half-shut  eyes,  and,  in  the  utter  stillness,  to  hear 
the  apples  dropping  from  the  trees,  and  the  tinkle  of  the 
cowbells  as  the  cows  walked  statelily  down  the  main  road 
of  the  village.  Everybody  in  that  restful  place  seemed  to 
have  just  as  much  as  he  wanted;  a  house  with  all  com- 
fortable appliances,  a  big  or  little  verandah  wherein  to 
spend  the  day,  a  neatly  shaved  garden  with  a  wild  wealth 
of  flowers,  some  cows,  and  an  orchard.  Everybody  knew 
everybody  else  intimately,  and  what  they  did  not  know, 
the  local  daily  paper — a  daily  for  a  village  of  twelve 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  159 

hundred  people !  —  supplied.  There  was  a  court-house 
where  justice  was  done,  and  a  jail  where  some  most  en- 
viable prisoners  lived,  and  there  were  four  or  five  churches 
of  four  or  five  denominations.  Also  it  was  impossible  to 
buy  openly  any  liquor  in  that  little  paradise.  But  — 
and  this  is  a  very  serious  but  —  you  could  by  procuring 
a  medical  certificate  get  strong  drinks  from  the  chemist. 
That  is  the  drawback  of  prohibition.  It  makes  a  man 
who  wants  a  drink  a  shirker  and  a  contriver,  which 
things  are  not  good  for  the  soul  of  a  man,  and  presently, 
'specially  if  he  be  young,  causes  him  to  believe  that 
he  may  just  as  well  be  hanged  for  a  sheep  as  for  a  lamb ; 
and  the  end  of  that  young  man  is  not  pretty.  Nothing 
except  a  rattling  fall  will  persuade  an  average  colt  that 
a  fence  is  not  meant  to  be  jumped  over ;  whereas  if  he 
be  turned  out  into  the  open  he  learns  to  carry  himself 
with  discretion.  One  heard  a  good  deal  of  this  same 
dread  of  drink  in  Musquash,  and  even  the  maidens 
seemed  to  know  too  much  about  its  effects  upon  certain 
unregenerate  youths,  who,  if  they  had  been  once  made 
thoroughly,  effectually,  and  persistently  drunk  —  with  a 
tepid  brandy  and  soda  thrust  before  their  goose-fleshed 
noses  on  the  terrible  Next  Morning  —  would  perhaps 
have  seen  the  futility  of  their  ways.  It  was  a  sin  by  vil- 
lage canons  to  imbibe  lager,  though  —  experto  crede  —  you 
can  get  dropsy  on  that  stuff  long  before  you  can  get 
drunk.  "But  what  man  knows  his  mind? "  Besides,  it 
was  all  their  own  affair. 

The  little  community  seemed  to  be  as  self-contained  as 
an  Indian  village.  Had  the  rest  of  the  land  sunk  under 
the  sea,  Musquash  would  have  gone  on  sending  its  sons  to 
school  in  order  to  make  them  "good  citizens,"  which  is 


160  FROM   SEA  TO  SEA 

the  constant  prayer  of  the  true  American  father,  settling 
its  own  road-making,  local  cesses,  town-lot  arbitrations, 
and  internal  government  by  ballot  and  vote  and  due  re- 
spect to  the  voices  of  the  headmen  (which  is  the  salvation 
of  the  ballot),  until  such  time  as  all  should  take  their 
places  in  the  cemetery  appointed  for  their  faith.  Here 
were  Americans  and  no  aliens  —  men  ruling  themselves 
by  themselves  and  for  themselves  and  their  wives  and 
their  children  —  in  peace,  order,  and  decency. 

But  what  went  straightest  to  this  heart,  though  they 
did  not  know  it,  was  that  they  were  Methody  folk  for 
the  most  part  —  ay,  Methody  as  ever  trod  a  Yorkshire 
Moor,  or  drove  on  a  Sunday  to  some  chapel  of  the  Faith 
in  the  Dales.  The  old  Methody  talk  was  there,  with 
the  discipline  whereby  the  souls  of  the  Just  are,  some- 
times to  their  intense  vexation,  made  perfect  on  this 
earth  in  order  that  they  may  "  take  out  their  letters  and 
live  and  die  in  good  standing."  If  you  don't  know  the 
talk,  you  won't  know  what  that  means.  The  discipline, 
or  discipline,  is  no  thing  to  be  trifled  with,  and  its  work- 
ing among  a  congregation  depends  entirely  upon  the 
tact,  humanity,  and  sympathy  of  the  leader  who  works 
it.  He,  knowing  what  youth's  desires  are,  can  turn  the 
soul  in  the  direction  of  good,  gently,  instead  of  wrenching 
it  savagely  towards  the  right  path  only  to  see  it  break 
away  quivering  and  scared.  The  arm  of  the  Discipline 
is  long.  A  maiden  told  me,  as  a  new  and  strange  fact 
and  one  that  would  interest  a  foreigner,  of  a  friend  of 
hers  who  had  once  been  admonished  by  some  elders 
somewhere  —  not  in  Musquash  —  for  the  heinous  crime 
of  dancing.  She,  the  friend,  did  not  in  the  least 
like  it.  She  would  not.  Can't  you  imagine  the  de- 


FKOM  SEA  TO  SEA  161 

lightful  results  of  a  formal  wigging  administered  by  a 
youngish,  and  austere  elder  who  was  not  accustomed  to 
make  allowances  for  the  natural  dancing  instincts  of  the 
young  of  the  human  animal  ?  The  hot  irons  that  are 
held  forth  to  scare  may  also  sear,  as  those  who  have 
ever  lain  under  an  unfortunate  exposition  of  the  old 
Faith  can  attest. 

But  it  was  all  immensely  interesting  —  the  absolutely 
fresh,  wholesome,  sweet  life  that  paid  due  reverence  to 
the  things  of  the  next  world,  but  took  good  care  to  get 
enough  tennis  in  the  cool  of  the  evening ;  that  con- 
cerned itself  as  honestly  and  thoroughly  with  the  daily 
round,  the  trivial  task  (and  that  same  task  is  anything 
but  trivial  when  you  are  "  helped "  by  an  American 
"  help  "  )  as  with  the  salvation  of  the  soul.  I  had  the 
honour  of  meeting  in  the  flesh,  even  as  Miss  Louisa 
Alcott  drew  them,  Meg  and  Joe  and  Beth  and  Amy, 
whom  you  ought  to  know.  There  was  no  affectation 
of  concealment  in  their  lives  who  had  nothing  to  con- 
ceal. There  were  many  "  little  women "  in  that  place, 
because,  even  as  is  the  case  in  England,  the  boys  had 
gone  out  to  seek  their  fortunes.  Some  were  working 
in  the  thundering,  clanging  cities,  others  had  removed 
to  the  infinite  West,  and  others  had  disappeared  in 
the  languid,  lazy  South;  and  the  maidens  waited  their 
return,  which  is  the  custom  of  maidens  all  over  the 
world.  Then  the  boys  would  come  back  in  the  soft 
sunlight,  attired  in  careful  raiment,  their  tongues 
cleansed  of  evil  words  and  discourtesy.  They  had  just 
come  to  call  —  bless  their  carefully  groomed  heads  so 
they  had,  —  and  the  maidens  in  white  dresses  glimmered 
like  ghosts  on  the  stoop  and  received  them  according  to 

YOt,  II —  M 


162  FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

their  merits.  Mamma  had  nothing  to  do  with  this,  nor 
papa  either,  for  he  was  down-town  trying  to  drive 
reason  into  the  head  of  a  land  surveyor;  and  all  along 
the  shaded,  lazy,  intimate  street  you  heard  the  garden- 
gates  click  and  clash,  as  the  mood  of  the  man  varied, 
and  bursts  of  pleasant  laughter  where  three  or  four 

—  be  sure  the  white  muslins  were  among  them,  —  dis- 
cussed a  picnic  past  or  a  buggy-drive  to  come.      Then 
the    couples    went    their    ways    and    talked    together 
till  the    young  men  had  to  go  at  last  on  account  of 
the    trains,    and    all    trooped    joyously   down    to    the 
station  and  thought  no  harm  of  it.     And,  indeed,  why 
should  they  ?      Prom  her  fifteenth  year  the  American 
maiden  moves  among   "  the  boys "   as   a  sister  among 
brothers.     They  are  her  servants  to  take  her  out  riding, 

—  which  is  driving,  —  to  give  her   flowers   and  candy. 
The  last  two  items  are  expensive,  and  this  is  good  for 
the  young  man,  as  teaching  him  to  value  friendship  that 
costs  a  little  in  cash  and  may  necessitate  economy  on  the 
cigar  side.    As  to  the  maiden,  she  is  taught  to  respect 
herself,  that  her  fate  is  in  her  own  hands,  and  that  she 
is  the  more  stringently  bound  by  the  very  measure  of 
the  liberty    so   freely    accorded    to    her.      Wherefore, 
in  her  own  language,   "she  has  a  lovely  time"  with 
about  two  or  three  hundred  boys  who  have   sisters  of 
their  own,  and  a  very  accurate  perception  that  if  they 
were  unworthy  of  their  trust  a  syndicate  of  other  boys 
would  probably  pass  them  into  a  world  where  there  is 
neither  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.     And  so  time 
goes  till  the  maiden  knows  the  other  side  of  the  house, 
— knows  that  a  man  is  not  a  demi-god  nor  a  mysteriously 
veiled  monster,  but  an  average,  egotistical,  vain,  glutton- 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  163 

ous,  but  on  the  whole  companionable,  sort  of  person,  to  be 
soothed,  fed,  and  managed  —  knowledge  that  does  not 
come  to  her  sister  in  England  till  after  a  few  years  of 
matrimony.  And  then  she  makes  her  choice.  The 
Golden  Light  touches  eyes  that  are  full  of  compre- 
hension ;  but  the  light  is  golden  none  the  less,  for  she 
makes  just  the  same  sweet,  irrational  choices  that  an 
English  girl  does.  With  this  advantage :  she  knows  a 
little  more,  has  experience  in  entertaining,  insight  into 
the  businesses,  employ,  and  hobbies  of  men,  gathered 
from  countless*  talks  with  the  boys,  and  talks  with 
the  other  girls  who  find  time  at  those  mysterious  con- 
claves to  discuss  what  Tom,  Ted,  Stuke,  or  Jack  have 
been  doing.  Thus  it  happens  that  she  is  a  companion, 
in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  of  the  man  she  weds, 
zealous  for  the  interest  of  the  firm,  to  be  consulted  in 
time  of  stress  and  to  be  called  upon  for  help  and  sym- 
pathy in  time  of  danger.  Pleasant  it  is  that  one  heart 
should  beat  for  you ;  but  it  is  better  when  the  head  above 
that  heart  has  been  thinking  hard  on  your  behalf,  and 
when  the  lips,  that  are  also  very  pleasant  to  kiss,  give 
wise  counsel. 

When  the  American  maiden  —  I  speak  now  for  the 
rank  and  file  of  that  noble  army  —  is  once  married,  why, 
it  is  finished.  She  has  had  her  lovely  time.  It  may  have 
been  five,  seven,  or  ten  years  according  to  circumstances. 
She  abdicates  promptly  with  startling  speed,  and  her 
place  knows  her  no  more  except  as  with  her  husband. 
The  Queen  is  dead,  or  looking  after  the  house.  This 
same  household  work  seems  to  be  the  thing  that  ages  the 
American  woman.  She  is  infamously  "  helped  "  by  the 
Irish  trollop  and  the  negress  alike.  It  is  not  fair  upon 


164  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

her,  because  she  has  to  do  three  parts  of  the  housework 
herself,  and  in  dry,  nerve-straining  air  the  "  chores  "  are 
a  burden.  Be  thankful,  O  my  people,  for  Mauz  Baksh, 
Kadir  Baksh,  and  the  ayah  while  they  are  with  you. 
They  are  twice  as  handy  as  the  unkempt  slatterns  of  the 
furnished  apartments  to  which  you  will  return,  Commis- 
sioners though  you  be;  and  five  times  as  clever  as  the 
Amelia  Araminta  Kebellia  Secessia  Jackson  (coloured) 
under  whose  ineptitude  and  insolence  the  young  Ameri- 
can housewife  groans.  But  all  this  is  far  enough  from 
peaceful,  placid  Musquash  and  its  boundless  cordiality, 
its  simple,  genuine  hospitality,  and  its  —  what's  the 
French  word  that  just  covers  all? — gra  —  gracieuseness, 
isn't  it?  Oh,  be  good  to  an  American  wherever  you 
meet  him.  Put  him  up  for  the  club,  and  he  will  hold 
you  listening  till  three  in  the  morning;  give  him  the 
best  tent,  and  the  gram-fed  mutton.  I  have  incurred  a 
debt  of  salt  that  I  can  never  repay,  but  do  you  return 
it  piecemeal  to  any  of  that  Nation,  and  the  account  will 
be  on  my  head  till  our  paths  in  the  world  cross  again. 
He  drinks  iced  water  just  as  we  do ;  but  he  doesn't  quite 
like  our  cigars. 

And  how  shall  I  finish  the  tale?  Would  it  interest 
you  to  learn  of  the  picnics  in  the  hot,  still  woods  that 
overhang  the  Monongahela,  when  those  idiotic  Ameri- 
can buggies  that  can't  turn  round  got  stuck  among  the 
brambles  and  all  but  capsized ;  of  boating  in  the  blazing 
sun  on  the  river  that  but  a  little  time  before  had  cast 
at  the  feet  of  the  horrified  village  the  corpses  of  the 
Johnstown  tragedy  ?  I  saw  one,  only  one,  remnant  of 
that  terrible  wreck.  He  had  been  a  minister.  House, 
church,  congregation,  wife,  and  children  had  been  swept 


FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA  165 

away  from  him  in  one  night  of  terror.  He  had  no  em- 
ployment ;  he  could  have  employed  himself  at  nothing ; 
but  God  had  been  very  good  to  him.  He  sat  in  the  sun 
and  smiled  a  little  weakly.  It  was  in  his  poor  blurred 
mind  that  something  had  happened  —  he  was  not  sure 
what  it  was,  but  undoubtedly  something  had  occurred. 
One  could  only  pray  that  the  light  would  never  return. 
But  there  be  many  pictures  on  my  mind.  Of  a 
huge  manufacturing  city  of  three  hundred  thousand 
souls  lighted  and  warmed  by  natural  gas,  so  that  the 
great  valley  full  of  flaming  furnaces  sent  up  no  smoke 
wreaths  to  the  clear  sky.  Of  Musquash  itself  lighted  by 
the  same  mysterious  agency,  flares  of  gas  eight  feet  long, 
roaring  day  and  night  at  the  corners  of  the  grass-grown 
streets  because  it  wasn't  worth  while  to  turn  them  out ; 
of  fleets  of  coal-flats  being  hauled  down  the  river  on  an 
interminable  journey  to  St.  Louis;  of  factories  nestling 
in  woods  where  all  the  axe-handles  and  shovels  in  the 
world  seemed  to  be  manufactured  daily ;  and  last,  of 
that  quaint  forgotten  German  community,  the  Brother- 
hood of  Perpetual  Separation,  who  founded  themselves 
when  the  State  was  yet  young  and  land  cheap,  and  are 
now  dying  out  because  they  will  neither  marry  nor  give 
in  marriage  and  their  recruits  are  very  few.  The  ad- 
vance in  the  value  of  land  has  almost  smothered  these 
poor  old  people  in  a  golden  affluence  that  they  never 
desired.  They  live  in  a  little  village  where  the  houses 
are  built  old  Dutch  fashion,  with  their  front  doors  away 
from  the  road,  and  cobbled  paths  all  about.  The  clois- 
tered peace  of  Musquash  is  a  metropolitan  riot  beside 
the  hush  of  that  village.  And  there  is,  too,  a  love-tale 
tucked  away  among  the  flowers.  It  has  taken  seventy 


166  FROM  SEA   TO   SEA 

years  in  the  telling,  for  the  brother  and  sister  loved  each 
other  well,  but  they  loved  their  duty  to  the  brotherhood 
more.  So  they  have  lived  and  still  do  live,  seeing  each 
other  daily,  and  separated  for  all  time.  Any  trouble 
that  might  have  been  is  altogether  wiped  out  of  their 
faces,  which  are  as  calm  as  those  of  very  little  chil- 
dren. To  the  uninitiated  those  constant  ones  resemble 
extremely  old  people  in  garments  of  absurd  cut.  But 
they  love  each  other,  and  that  seems  to  bring  one 
back  quite  naturally  to  the  girls  and  the  boys  in  Mus- 
quash. The  boys  were  nice  boys  —  graduates  of  Yale 
of  course ;  you  mustn't  mention  Harvard  here  —  but 
none  the  less  skilled  in  business,  in  stocks  and  shares, 
the  boring  for  oil,  and  the  sale  of  everything  that  can 
be  sold  by  one  sinner  to  another.  Skilled,  too,  in  base- 
ball, big-shouldered,  with  straight  eyes  and  square  chins 
—  but  not  above  occasional  diversion  and  mild  orgies. 
They  will  make  good  citizens  and  possess  the  earth,  and 
eventually  wed  one  of  the  nice  white  muslin  dresses. 
There  are  worse  things  in  this  world  than  being  "  one 
of  the  boys"  in  Musquash. 


No.  XXXVII 

AN    INTERVIEW   WITH    MARK    TWAIN. 

You  are  a  contemptible  lot,  over  yonder.  Some  of 
you  are  Commissioners,  and  some  Lieutenant-Governors, 
and  some  have  the  V.  C.,  and  a  few  are  privileged  to 
walk  about  the  Mall  arm  in  arm  with  the  Viceroy;  but 
I  have  seen  Mark  Twain  this  golden  morning,  have 
shaken  his  hand,  and  smoked  a  cigar  —  no,  two  cigars  — 
with  him,  and  talked  with  him  for  more  than  two 
hours!  Understand  clearly  that  I  do  not  despise  you; 
indeed,  I  don't.  I  am  only  very  sorry  for  yo\\,  from 
the  Viceroy  downward.  To  soothe  your  envy  and  to 
prove  that  I  still  regard  you  as  my  equals,  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it. 

They  said  in  Buffalo  that  he  was  in  Hartford,  Conn. ; 
and  again  they  said  "  perchance  he  is  gone  upon  a  journey 
to  Portland";  and  a  big,  fat  drummer  vowed  that  he 
knew  the  great  man  intimately,  and  that  Mark  was 
spending  the  summer  in  Europe  —  which  information  so 
upset  me  that  I  embarked  upon  the  wrong  train,  and 
was  incontinently  turned  out  by  the  conductor  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  from  the  station,  amid  the  wilderness 
of  railway  tracks.  Have  you  ever,  encumbered  with 
great-coat  and  valise,  tried  to  dodge  diversely -minded 
locomotives  when  the  sun  was  shining  in  your  eyes  ? 

167 


168  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

But  I  forgot  that  you  have  not  seen  Mark  Twain,  you 
people  of  no  account ! 

Saved  from  the  jaws  of  the  cowcatcher,  me  wandering 
devious  a  stranger  met. 

"  Elmira  is  the  place.  Elmira  in  the  State  of  Xew 
York  —  this  State,  not  two  hundred  miles  away;"  and 
he  added,  perfectly  unnecessarily,  "  Slide,  Kelley,  slide." 

I  slid  on  the  West  Shore  line,  I  slid  till  midnight, 
and  they  dumped  me  down  at  the  door  of  a  frowzy  hotel 
in  Elmira.  Yes,  they  knew  all  about  "  that  man  Clem- 
ens," but  reckoned  he  was  not  in  town;  had  gone  East 
somewhere.  I  had  better  possess  my  soul  in  patience 
till  the  morrow,  and  then  dig  up  the  "  man  Clemens' " 
brother-in-law,  who  was  interested  in  coal. 

The  idea  of  chasing  half  a  dozen  relatives  in  addition 
to  Mark  Twain  up  and  down  a  city  of  thirty  thousand 
inhabitants  kept  me  awake.  Morning  revealed  Elmira, 
whose  streets  were  desolated  by  railway  tracks,  and 
whose  suburbs  were  given  up  to  the  manufacture  of 
door-sashes  and  window-frames.  It  was  surrounded  by 
pleasant,  fat,  little  hills,  rimmed  with  timber  and  topped 
with  cultivation.  The  Chemung  River  flowed  generally 
up  and  down  the  town,  and  had  just  finished  flooding  a 
few  of  the  main  streets. 

The  hotel-man  and  the  telephone-man  assured  me  that 
the  much-desired  brother-in-law  was  out  of  town,  and 
no  one  seemed  to  know  where  "  the  man  Clemens  "  abode. 
Later  on  I  discovered  that  he  had  not  summered  in  that 
place  for  more  than  nineteen  seasons,  and  so  was  com- 
paratively a  new  arrival. 

A  friendly  policeman  volunteered  the  news  that  he 
had  seen  Twain  or  "some  one  very  like  him"  driving 


FROM  SEA  TO   SEA  169 

a  buggy  the  day  before.  This  gave  me  a  delightful 
sense  of  nearness.  Fancy  living  in  a  town  where  you 
could  see  the  author  of  Tom  Sawyer,  or  "  some  one  very 
like  him,"  jolting  over  the  pavements  in  a  buggy! 

"He  lives  out  yonder  at  East  Hill,"  said  the  police- 
man; "three  miles  from  here." 

Then  the  chase  began  —  in  a  hired  hack,  up  an  awful 
hill,  where  sunflowers  blossomed  by  the  roadside,  and 
crops  waved,  and  Harper's  Magazine  cows  stood  in  eli- 
gible and  commanding  attitudes  knee-deep  in  clover,  all 
ready  to  be  transferred  to  photogravure.  The  great  man 
must  have  been  persecuted  by  outsiders  aforetime,  and 
fled  up  the  hill  for  refuge. 

Presently  the  driver  stopped  at  a  miserable,  little, 
white  wood  shanty,  and  demanded  "Mister  Clemens." 

"I  know  he's  a  big-bug  and  all  that,"  he  explained, 
"but  you  can  never  tell  what  sort  of  notions  those  sort 
of  men  take  into  their  heads  to  live  in,  anyways." 

There  rose  up  a  young  lady  who  was  sketching  thistle- 
tops  and  goldenrod,  amid  a  plentiful  supply  of  both,  and 
set  the  pilgrimage  on  the  right  path. 

"It's  a  pretty  Gothic  house  on  the  left-hand  side  a 
little  way  farther  on." 

"Gothic  h ,"  said  the  driver.  "Very  few  of  the 

city  hacks  take  this  drive,  specially  if  they  know  they 
are  coming  out  here,"  and  he  glared  at  me  savagely. 

It  was  a  very  pretty  house,  anything  but  Gothic, 
clothed  with  ivy,  standing  in  a  very  big  compound,  and 
fronted  by  a  verandah  full  of  chairs  and  hammocks.  The 
roof  of  the  verandah  was  a  trellis-work  of  creepers,  and 
the  sun  peeping  through  moved  on  the  shining  boards 
below. 


170  FROM   SEA  TO  SEA 

Decidedly  this  remote  place  was  an  ideal  one  for  work, 
if  a  man  could  work  among  these  soft  airs  and  the 
murmur  of  the  long-eared  crops. 

Appeared  suddenly  a  lady  used  to  dealing  with  ram- 
pageous outsiders.  "  Mr.  Clemens  has  just  walked  down- 
town. He  is  at  his  brother-in-law's  house." 

Then  he  was  within  shouting  distance,  after  all,  and 
the  chase  had  not  been  in  vain.  With  speed  I  fled,  and 
the  driver,  skidding  the  wheel  and  swearing  audibly, 
arrived  at  the  bottom  of  that  hill  without  accidents.  It 
was  in  the  pause  that  followed  between  ringing  the 
brother-in-law's  bell  and  getting  an  answer  that  it  oc- 
curred to  me  for  the  first  time  Mark  Twain  might  pos- 
sibly have  other  engagements  than  the  entertainment  of 
escaped  lunatics  from  India,  be  they  never  so  full  of 
admiration.  And  in  another  man's  house  —  anyhow, 
what  had  I  come  to  do  or  say?  Suppose  the  drawing- 
room  should  be  full  of  people, —  suppose  a  baby  were 
sick,  how  was  I  to  explain  that  I  only  wanted  to  shake 
hands  with  him? 

Then  things  happened  somewhat  in  this  order.  A 
big,  darkened  drawing-room;  a  huge  chair;  a  man  with 
eyes,  a  mane  of  grizzled  hair,  a  brown  mustache  cover- 
ing a  mouth  as  delicate  as  a  woman's,  a  strong,  square 
hand  shaking  mine,  and  the  slowest,  calmest,  levellest 
voice  in  all  the  world  saying :  — 

"  Well,  you  think  you  owe  me  something,  and  you've 
come  to  tell  me  so.  That's  what  I  call  squaring  a  debt 
handsomely." 

"  Piff ! "  from  a  cob-pipe  (I  always  said  that  a  Mis- 
souri meerschaum  was  the  best  smoking  in  the  world), 
and,  behold!  Mark  Twain  had  curled  himself  up  in  the 


FKOM   SEA  TO  SEA  171 

big  armchair,  and  I  was  smoking  reverently,  as  befits 
one  in  the  presence  of  his  superior. 

The  thing  that  struck  me  first  was  that  he  was  an 
elderly  man;  yet,  after  a  minute's  thought,  I  perceived 
that  it  was  otherwise,  and  in  five  minutes,  the  eyes  look- 
ing at  me,  I  saw  that  the  grey  hair  was  an  accident  of 
the  most  trivial.  He  was  quite  young.  I  was  shaking 
his  hand.  I  was  smoking  his  cigar,  and  I  was  hearing 
him  talk  —  this  man  I  had  learned  to  love  and  admire 
fourteen  thousand  miles  away. 

Eeading  his  books,  I  had  striven  to  get  an  idea  of  his 
personality,  and  all  my  preconceived  notions  were  wrong 
and  beneath  the  reality.  Blessed  is  the  man  who  finds 
no  disillusion  when  he  is  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
revered  writer.  That  was  a  moment  to  be  remembered ; 
the  landing  of  a  twelve-pound  salmon  was  nothing  to  it. 
I  had  hooked  Mark  Twain,  and  he  was  treating  me  as 
though  under  certain  circumstances  I  might  be  an  equal. 

About  this  time  I  became  aware  that  he  was  discussing 
the  copyright  question.  Here,  so  far  as  I  remember,  is 
what  he  said.  Attend  to  the  words  of  the  oracle  through 
this  unworthy  medium  transmitted.  You  will  never  be 
able  to  imagine  the  long,  slow  surge  of  the  drawl,  and 
the  deadly  gravity  of  the  countenance,  the  quaint  pucker 
of  the  body,  one  foot  thrown  over  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
the  yellow  pipe  clinched  in  one  corner  of  the  mouth,  and 
the  right  hand  casually  caressing  the  square  chin :  — • 

"Copyright?  Some  men  have  morals,  and  some  men 
have  —  other  things.  I  presume  a  publisher  is  a  man. 
He  is  not  born.  He  is  created  —  by  circumstances. 
Some  publishers  have  morals.  Mine  have.  They  pay 
me  for  the  English  productions  of  my  books.  When 


172  FEOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

you  hear  men  talking  of  Bret  Harte's  works  and  other 
works  and  my  books  being  pirated,  ask  them  to  be  sure 
of  their  facts.  I  think  they'll  find  the  books  are  paid 
for.  It  was  ever  thus. 

"I  remember  an  unprincipled  and  formidable  pub- 
lisher. Perhaps  he's  dead  now.  He  used  to  take  my 
short  stories  —  I  can't  call  it  steal  or  pirate  them.  It 
was  beyond  these  things  altogether.  He  took  my  stories 
one  at  a  time  and  made  a  book  of  it.  If  I  wrote  an 
essay  on  dentistry  or  theology  or  any  little  thing  of  that 
kind  —  just  an  essay  that  long  (he  indicated  half  an  inch 
on  his  finger),  any  sort  of  essay  —  that  publisher  would 
amend  and  improve  my  essay. 

"  He  would  get  another  man  to  write  some  more  to  it 
or  cut  it  about  exactly  as  his  needs  required.  Then  he 
would  publish  a  book  called  Dentistry  by  Mark  Tivain, 
that  little  essay  and  some  other  things  not  mine  added. 
Theology  would  make  another  book,  and  so  on.  I  do 
not  consider  that  fair.  It's  an  insult.  But  he's  dead 
now,  I  think.  I  didn't  kill  him. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  talked  about  inter- 
national copyright.  The  proper  way  to  treat  a  copyright 
is  to  make  it  exactly  like  real-estate  in  every  way. 

"  It  will  settle  itself  under  these  conditions.  If  Con- 
gress were  to  bring  in  a  law  that  a  man's  life  was  not  to 
extend  over  a  hundred  and  sixty  years,  somebody  would 
laugh.  That  law  wouldn't  concern  anybody.  The  man 
would  be  out  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court.  A  term  of 
years  in  copyright  comes  to  exactly  the  same  thing.  No 
law  can  make  a  book  live  or  cause  it  to  die  before  the 
appointed  time. 

"Tottletown,   Cal.,   was  a  new  town,   with  a  popu- 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  173 

lation  of  three  thousand  —  banks,  fire-brigade,  brick 
buildings,  and  all  the  modern  improvements.  It 
lived,  it  flourished,  and  it  disappeared.  To-day  no 
man  can  put  his  foot  on  any  remnant  of  Tottletown, 
Cal.  It's  dead.  London  continues  to  exist.  Bill 
Smith,  author  of  a  book  read  for  the  next  year  <n' 
so,  is  real-estate  in  Tottletown.  William  Shake- 
speare, whose  works  are  extensively  read,  is  real- 
estate  in  London.  Let  Bill  Smith,  equally  with  Mr. 
Shakespeare  now  deceased,  have  as  complete  a  control 
over  his  copyright  as  he  would  over  his  real-estate. 
Let  him  gamble  it  away,  drink  it  away,  or  —  give  it  to 
the  church.  Let  his  heirs  and  assigns  treat  it  in  the 
same  manner. 

"Every  now  and  again  I  go  iip  to  Washington,  sitting 
on  a  board  to  drive  that  sort  of  view  into  Congress. 
Congress  takes  its  arguments  against  international  copy- 
right delivered  ready  made,  and  —  Congress  isn't  very 
strong.  I  put  the  real-estate  view  of  the  case  before  one 
of  the  Senators. 

"He  said:  'Suppose  a  man  has  written  a  book  that 
will  live  for  ever? ' 

"I  said:  'Neither  you  nor  I  will  ever  live  to  see  that 
man,  but  we'll  assume  it.  What  then? ' 

"He  said:  'I  want  to  protect  the  world  against  that 
man's  heirs  and  assigns,  working  under  your  theory.' 

"I  said:  'You  think  that  all  the  world  has  no  com- 
mercial sense.  The  book  that  will  live  for  ever  can't  be 
artificially  kept  up  at  inflated  prices.  There  will  always 
be  very  expensive  editions  of  it  and  cheap  ones  issuing 
side  by  side.' 

"Take  the  case  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels,"  Mark 


174  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

Twain  continued,  turning  to  me.  "  When  the  copyright 
notes  protected  them,  I  bought  editions  as  expensive  as 
I  could  afford,  because  I  liked  them.  At  the  same  time 
the  same  firm  were  selling  editions  that  a  cat  might  buy. 
They  had  their  real  estate,  and  not  being  fools,  recog- 
nised that  one  portion  of  the  plot  could  be  worked  as  a 
gold  mine,  another  as  a  vegetable  garden,  and  another 
as  a  marble  quarry.  Do  you  see?" 

What  I  saw  with  the  greatest  clearness  was  Mark 
Twain  being  forced  to  fight  for  the  simple  proposition 
that  a  man  has  as  much  right  to  the  work  of  his  brains 
(think  of  the  heresy  of  it!)  as  to  the  labour  of  his  hands. 
When  the  old  lion  roars,  the  young  whelps  growl.  I 
growled  assentingly,  and  the  talk  ran  on  from  books  in 
general  to  his  own  in  particular. 

Growing  bold,  and  feeling  that  I  had  a  few  hundred 
thousand  folk  at  my  back,  I  demanded  whether  Tom 
Sawyer  married  Judge  Thatcher's  daughter  and  whether 
we  were  ever  going  to  hear  of  Tom  Sawyer  as  a  man. 

"I  haven't  decided,"  quoth  Mark  Twain,  getting  up, 
filling  his  pipe,  and  walking  up  and  down  the  room  in 
his  slippers.  "I  have  a  notion  of  writing  the  sequel  to 
Tom  Sawyer  in  two  ways.  In  one  I  would  make  him 
rise  to  great  honour  and  go  to  Congress,  and  in  the  other 
I  should  hang  him.  Then  the  friends  and  enemies  of 
the  book  could  take  their  choice." 

Here  I  lost  my  reverence  completely,  and  protested 
against  any  theory  of  the  sort,  because,  to  me  at  least, 
Tom  Sawyer  was  real. 

"Oh,  he  is  real,"  said  Mark  Twain.  "He's  all  the 
boy  that  I  have  known  or  recollect;  but  that  would  be 
a  good  way  of  ending  the  book  " ;  then,  turning  round, 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  175 

"  because,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  neither  religion, 
training,  nor  education  avails  anything  against  the  force 
of  circumstances  that  drive  a  man.  Suppose  we  took  the 
next  four  and  twenty  years  of  Tom  Sawyer's  life,  and 
gave  a  little  joggle  to  the  circumstances  that  controlled 
him.  He  would,  logically  and  according  to  the  joggle, 
turn  out  a  rip  or  an  angel." 

"Do  you  believe  that,  then?" 

"I  think  so.     Isn't  it  what  you  call  Kismet?" 

"  Yes ;  but  don't  give  him  two  joggles  and  show  the 
result,  because  he  isn't  your  property  any  more.  He 
belongs  to  us." 

He  laughed  —  a  large,  wholesome  laugh  —  and  this 
began  a  dissertation  on  the  rights  of  a  man  to  do  what 
he  liked  with  his  own  creations,  which  being  a  matter 
of  purely  professional  interest,  I  will  mercifully  omit. 

Returning  to  the  big  chair,  he,  speaking  of  truth  and 
the  like  in  literature,  said  that  an  autobiography  was  the 
one  work  in  which  a  man,  against  his  own  will  and  in 
spite  of  his  utmost  striving  to  the  contrary,  revealed 
himself  in  his  true  light  to  the  world. 

"A  good  deal  of  your  life  on  the  Mississippi  is  auto- 
biographical, isn't  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  As  near  as  it  can  be  —  when  a  man  is  writing  to  a 
book  and  about  himself.  But  in  genuine  autobiography, 
I  believe  it  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  tell  the  truth  about 
himself  or  to  avoid  impressing  the  reader  with  the  truth 
about  himself. 

"I  made  an  experiment  once.  I  got  a  friend  of  mine 
—  a  man  painfully  given  to  speak  the  truth  on  all  occa- 
sions—  a  man  who  wouldn't  dream  of  telling  a  lie  — 
and  I  made  him  write  his  autobiography  for  his  own 


176  FEOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

amusement  and  mine.  He  did  it.  The  manuscript 
would  have  made  an  octavo  volume,  but  —  good,  honest 
man  that  he  was  —  in  every  single  detail  of  his  life  that 
I  knew  about  he  turned  out,  on  paper,  a  formidable  liar. 
He  could  not  help  himself. 

"  It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  write  the  truth  about 
itself.  None  the  less  the  reader  gets  a  general  impres- 
sion from  an  autobiography  whether  the  man  is  a  fraud 
or  a  good  man.  The  reader  can't  give  his  reasons  any 
more  than  a  man  can  explain  why  a  woman  struck  him 
as  being  lovely  when  he  doesn't  remember  her  hair,  eyes, 
teeth,  or  figure.  And  the  impression  that  the  reader 
gets  is  a  correct  one." 

"Do  you  ever  intend  to  write  an  autobiography?" 

"  If  I  do,  it  will  be  as  other  men  have  done  —  with 
the  most  earnest  desire  to  make  myself  out  to  be  the 
better  man  in  every  little  business  that  has  been  to  my 
discredit ;  and  I  shall  fail,  like  the  others,  to  make  my 
readers  believe  anything  except  the  truth." 

This  naturally  led  to  a  discussion  on  conscience.  Then 
said  Mark  Twain,  and  his  words  are  mighty  and  to  be 
remembered :  — 

"  Your  conscience  is  a  nuisance.  A  conscience  is  like 
a  child.  If  you  pet  it  and  play  with  it  and  let  it  have 
everything  that  it  wants,  it  becomes  spoiled  and  intrudes 
on  all  your  amusements  and  most  of  your  griefs.  Treat 
your  conscience  as  you  would  treat  anything  else.  When 
it  is  rebellious,  spank  it  —  be  severe  with  it,  argue  with 
it,  prevent  it  from  coming  to  play  with  you  at  all  hours, 
and  you  will  secure  a  good  conscience;  that  is  to  say, 
a  properly  trained  one.  A  spoiled  one  simply  destroys 
all  the  pleasure  in  life.  I  think  I  have  reduced  mine  to 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  177 

order.  At  least,  I  haven't  heard  from  it  for  some  time. 
Perhaps  I  have  killed  it  from  over-severity.  It's  wrong 
to  kill  a  child,  but,  in  spite  of  all  I  have  said,  a  con- 
science differs  from  a  child  in  many  ways.  Perhaps  it's 
best  when  it's  dead." 

Here  he  told  me  a  little  —  such  things  as  a  man  may 
tell  a  stranger  —  of  his  early  life  and  upbringing,  and 
in  what  manner  he  had  been  influenced  for  good  by  the 
example  of  his  parents.  He  spoke  always  through  his 
eyes,  a  light  under  the  heavy  eyebrows;  anon  crossing 
the  room  with  a  step  as  light  as  a  girl's,  to  show  me 
some  book  or  other ;  then  resuming  his  walk  up  and  down 
the  room,  puffing  at  the  cob  pipe.  I  would  have  given 
much  for  nerve  enough  to  demand  the  gift  of  that  pipe 
—  value,  five  cents  when  new.  I  understood  why  cer- 
tain savage  tribes  ardently  desired  the  liver  of  brave 
men  slain  in  combat.  That  pipe  would  have  given  me, 
perhaps,  a  hint  of  his  keen  insight  into  the  souls  of  men. 
But  he  never  laid  it  aside  within  stealing  reach. 

Once,  indeed,  he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  It 
was  an  investiture  of  the  Star  of  India,  blue  silk,  trum- 
pets, and  diamond-studded  jewel,  all  complete.  If 
hereafter,  in  the  changes  and  chances  of  this  mortal  life, 
I  fall  to  cureless  ruin,  I  will  tell  the  superintendent  of 
the  workhouse  that  Mark  Twain  once  put  his  hand  on 
my  shoulder;  and  he  shall  give  me  a  room  to  myself  and 
a  double  allowance  of  paupers'  tobacco. 

"  I  never  read  novels  myself, "  said  he,  "  except  when 
the  popular  persecution  forces  me  to  —  when  people 
plague  me  to  know  what  I  think  of  the  last  book  that 
every  one  is  reading." 

"And  how  did  the  latest  persecution  affect  you?" 

VOL.  II  —  N 


178  FBOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

"Robert?"  said  he,  interrogatively. 

I  nodded. 

"  I  read  it,  of  course,  for  the  workmanship.  That  made 
me  think  I  had  neglected  novels  too  long  —  that  there 
might  be  a  good  many  books  as  graceful  in  style  some- 
where on  the  shelves ;  so  I  began  a  course  of  novel  read- 
ing. I  have  dropped  it  now ;  it  did  not  amuse  me.  But 
as  regards  Robert,  the  effect  on  me  was  exactly  as  though 
a  singer  of  street  ballads  were  to  hear  excellent  music 
from  a  church  organ.  I  didn't  stop  to  ask  whether  the 
music  was  legitimate  or  necessary.  I  listened,  and  I 
liked  what  I  heard.  I  am  speaking  of  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  the  style." 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  "every  man  has  his  private 
opinion  about  a  book.  But  that  is  my  private  opinion. 
If  I  had  lived  in  the  beginning  of  things,  I  should  have 
looked  around  the  township  to  see  what  popular  opinion 
thought  of  the  murder  of  Abel  before  I  openly  condemned 
Cain.  I  should  have  had  my  private  opinion,  of  course, 
but  I  shouldn't  have  expressed  it  until  I  had  felt  the  way. 
You  have  my  private  opinion  about  that  book.  I  don't 
know  what  my  public  ones  are  exactly.  They  won't 
upset  the  earth." 

He  recurled  himself  into  the  chair  and  talked  of  other 
things. 

"  I  spend  nine  months  of  the  year  at  Hartford.  I  have 
long  ago  satisfied  myself  that  there  is  no  hope  of  doing 
much  work  during  those  nine  months.  People  come  in 
and  call.  They  call  at  all  hours,  about  everything  in 
the  world.  One  day  I  thought  I  would  keep  a  list  of 
interruptions.  It  began  this  way :  — 

"A  man  came  and  would  see  no  one  but  Mr.  Clemens. 


FROM   SEA  TO   SEA  179 

He  was  an  agent  for  photogravure  reproductions  of  Salon 
pictures.  I  very  seldom  use  Salon  pictures  in  my  books. 

"  After  that  man  another  man,  who  refused  to  see  any 
one  but  Mr.  Clemens,  came  to  make  me  write  to  Wash- 
ington about  something.  I  saw  him.  I  saw  a  third 
man,  then  a  fourth.  By  this  time  it  was  noon.  I  had 
grown  tired  of  keeping  the  list.  I  wished  to  rest. 

"  But  the  fifth  man  was  the  only  one  of  the  croAvd 
with  a  card  of  his  own.  He  sent  up  his  card.  'Ben 
Koontz,  Hannibal,  Mo.'  I  was  raised  in  Hannibal. 
Ben  was  an  old  schoolmate  of  mine.  Consequently  I 
threw  the  house  wide  open  and  rushed  with  both  hands 
out  at  a  big,  fat,  heavy  man,  who  was  not  the  Ben  I  had 
ever  known  —  nor  anything  like  him. 

"  'But  is  it  you,  Ben? '  I  said.  'You've  altered  in  the 
last  thousand  years.' 

"The  fat  man  said:  'Well,  I'm  not  Koontz  exactly, 
but  I  met  him  down  in  Missouri,  and  he  told  me  to  be 
sure  and  call  on  you,  and  he  gave  me  his  card,  and'  — 
here  he  acted  the  little  scene  for  my  benefit  — '  if  you  can 
wait  a  minute  till  I  can  get  out  the  circulars  —  I'm  not 
Koontz  exactly,  but  I'm  travelling  with  the  fullest  line 
of  rods  you  ever  saw. ' ' 

"And  what  happened?"  I  asked  breathlessly. 

"  I  shut  the  door.  He  was  not  Ben  Koontz  —  exactly 
—  not  my  old  school-fellow,  but  I  had  shaken  him  by 
both  hands  in  love,  and  ...  I  had  been  bearded  by  a 
lightning-rod  man  in  my  own  house. 

"As  I  was  saying,  I  do  very  little  work  in  Hartford. 
I  come  here  for  three  months  every  year,  and  I  work 
four  or  five  hours  a  day  in  a  study  down  the  garden  of 
that  little  house  on  the  hill.  Of  course,  I  do  not  object 


180  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

to  two  or  three  interruptions.  When  a  man  is  in  the 
full  swing  of  his  work  these  little  things  do  not  affect 
him.  Eight  or  ten  or  twenty  interruptions  retard 
composition." 

I  was  burning  to  ask  him  all  manner  of  impertinent 
questions,  as  to  which  of  his  works  he  himself  preferred, 
and  so  forth;  but,  standing  in  awe  of  his  eyes,  I  dared 
not.  He  spoke  on,  and  I  listened,  grovelling. 

It  was  a  question  of  mental  equipment  that  was  on 
the  carpet,  and  I  am  still  wondering  whether  he  meant 
what  he  said. 

"Personally  I  never  care  for  fiction  or  story-books. 
What  I  like  to  read  about  are  facts  and  statistics  of  any 
kind.  If  they  are  only  facts  about  the  raising  of  rad- 
ishes, they  interest  me.  Just  now,  for  instance,  before 
you  came  in "  —  he  pointed  to  an  encyclopaedia  on  the 
shelves  —  "I  was  reading  an  article  about  'Mathematics.' 
Perfectly  pure  mathematics. 

"My  own  knowledge  of  mathematics  stops  at  'twelve 
times  twelve,'  but  I  enjoyed  that  article  immensely.  I 
didn't  understand  a  word  of  it:  but  facts,  or  what  a  man 
believes  to  be  facts,  are  always  delightful.  That  mathe- 
matical fellow  believed  in  his  facts.  So  do  I.  Get 
your  facts  first,  and  "  —  the  voice  dies  away  to  an  almost 
inaudible  drone  —  "then  you  can  distort  'em  as  much  as 
you  please." 

Bearing  this  precious  advice  in  my  bosom,  I  left;  the 
great  man  assuring  me  with  gentle  kindness  that  I  had 
not  interrupted  him  in  the  least.  Once  outside  the  door, 
I  yearned  to  go  back  and  ask  some  questions  —  it  was 
easy  enough  to  think  of  them  now  —  but  his  time  was 
his  own,  though  his  books  belonged  to  me. 


FROM  SEA  TO  SEA  181 

I  should  have  ample  time  to  look  back  to  that  meeting 
across  the  graves  of  the  days.  But  it  was  sad  to  think 
of  the  things  he  had  not  spoken  about. 

In  San  Francisco  the  men  of  The  Call  told  me  many 
legends  of  Mark's  apprenticeship  in  their  paper  five  and 
twenty  years  ago;  how  he  was  a  reporter  delightfully 
incapable  of  reporting  according  to  the  needs  of  the  day. 
He  preferred,  so  they  said,  to  coil  himself  into  a  heap 
and  meditate  until  the  last  minute.  Then  he  would 
produce  copy  bearing  no  sort  of  relationship  to  his  legiti- 
mate work  —  copy  that  made  the  editor  swear  horribly, 
and  the  readers  of  The  Call  ask  for  more. 

I  should  like  to  have  heard  Mark's  version  of  that,  with 
some  stories  of  his  joyous  and  variegated  past.  He  has 
been  journeyman  printer  (in  those  days  he  wandered 
from  the  banks  of  the  Missouri  even  to  Philadelphia), 
pilot  cub  and  full-blown  pilot,  soldier  of  the  South  (that 
was  for  three  weeks  only),  private  secretary  to  a  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor of  Nevada  (that  displeased  him),  miner, 
editor,  special  correspondent  in  the  Sandwich  Islands, 
and  the  Lord  only  knows  what  else.  If  so  experienced  a 
man  could  by  any  means  be  made  drunk,  it  would  be  a 
glorious  thing  to  fill  him  up  with  composite  liquors,  and, 
in  the  language  of  his  own  country,  "let  him  retrospect." 
But  these  eyes  will  never  see  that  orgy  fit  for  the  gods ! 


CITY   OF   DREADFUL  NIGHT 


CITY   OF   DREADFUL  NIGHT 

CHAPTER   I 

JAN. -FEB.,  1888 

A    REAL   LIVE    CITY 

WE  are  all  backwoodsmen  and  barbarians  together  — 
we  others  dwelling  beyond  the  Ditch,  in  the  outer  dark- 
ness of  the  Mofussil.  There  are  no  such  things  as  com- 
missioners and  heads  of  departments  in  the  world,  and 
there  is  only  one  city  in  India.  Bombay  is  too  green, 
too  pretty,  and  too  stragglesome ;  and  Madras  died  ever 
so  long  ago.  Let  us  take  off  our  hats  to  Calcutta,  the 
many-sided,  the  smoky,  the  magnificent,  as  we  drive  in 
over  the  Hugli  Bridge  in  the  dawn  of  a  still  February 
morning.  We  have  left  India  behind  us  at  Howrah 
Station,  and  now  we  enter  foreign  parts.  No,  not  wholly 
foreign.  Say  rather  too  familiar. 

All  men  of  a  certain  age  know  the  feeling  of  caged 
irritation — an  illustration  in  the  Graphic,  a  bar  of  music 
or  the  light  words  of  a  friend  from  home  may  set  it 
ablaze  —  that  comes  from  the  knowledge  of  our  lost 
heritage  of  London.  At  Home  they,  the  other  men,  our 
equals,  have  at  their  disposal  all  that  Town  can  supply 
—  the  roar  of  the  streets,  the  lights,  the  music,  the 
pleasant  places,  the  millions  of  their  own  kind,  and  a 
wilderness  full  of  pretty,  fresh-coloured  Englishwomen, 

185 


186  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

theatres  and  restaurants.  It  is  their  right.  They  accept 
it  as  such,  and  even  affect  to  look  upon  it  with  contempt. 
And  we  —  we  have  nothing  except  the  few  amusements 
that  we  painfully  build  up  for  ourselves  —  the  dolorous 
dissipations  of  gymkhanas  where  every  one  knows  every- 
body else,  or  the  chastened  intoxication  of  dances  where 
all  engagements  are  booked,  in  ink,  ten  days  ahead,  and 
where  everybody's  antecedents  are  as  patent  as  his  or 
her  method  of  waltzing.  We  have  been  deprived  of  our 
inheritance.  The  men  at  home  are  enjoying  it  all,  not 
knowing  how  fair  and  rich  it  is,  and  we  at  the  most  can 
only  fly  westward  for  a  few  months  and  gorge  what, 
properly  speaking,  should  take  seven  or  eight  or  ten 
luxurious  years.  That  is  the  lost  heritage  of  London; 
and  the  knowledge  of  the  forfeiture,  wilful  or  forced, 
comes  to  most  men  at  times  and  seasons,  and  they  get 
cross. 

Calcutta  holds  out  false  hopes  of  some  return.  The 
dense  smoke  hangs  low,  in  the  chill  of  the  morning,  over 
an  ocean  of  roofs,  and,  as  the  city  wakes,  there  goes  up 
to  the  smoke  a  deep,  full-throated  boom  of  life  and 
motion  and  humanity.  For  this  reason  does  he  who 
sees  Calcutta  for  the  first  time  hang  joyously  out  of  the 
ticca-ghari  and  sniff  the  smoke,  and  turn  his  face  toward 
the  tumult,  saying:  "This  is,  at  last,  some  portion  of 
my  heritage  returned  to  me.  This  is  a  city.  There  is 
life  here,  and  there  should  be  all  manner  of  pleasant 
things  for  the  having,  across  the  river  and  under  the 
smoke." 

The  litany  is  an  expressive  one  and  exactly  describes 
the  first  emotions  of  a  wandering  savage  adrift  in  Cal- 
cutta. The  eye  has  lost  its  sense  of  proportion,  the 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL   NIGHT          187 

focus  has  contracted  through  overmuch  residence  in  up- 
country  stations  —  twenty  minutes'  canter  from  hospital 
to  parade-ground,  you  know  —  and  the  mind  has  shrunk 
with  the  eye.  Both  say  together,  as  they  take  in  the 
sweep  of  shipping  above  and  below  the  Hugli  Bridge: 
"Why,  this  is  London!  This  is  the  docks.  This  is  Im- 
perial. This  is  worth  coming  across  India  to  see !  " 

Then  a  distinctly  wicked  idea  takes  possession  of  the 
mind :  "  What  a  divine  —  what  a  heavenly  place  to  loot ! 
This  gives  place  to  a  much  worse  devil  —  that  of  Con- 
servatism. It  seems  not  only  a  wrong  but  a  criminal 
thing  to  allow  natives  to  have  any  voice  in  the  control 
of  such  a  city  —  adorned,  docked,  wharfed,  fronted,  and 
reclaimed  by  Englishmen,  existing  only  because  England 
lives,  and  dependent  for  its  life  on  England.  All  India 
knows  of  the  Calcutta  Municipality;  but  has  any  one 
thoroughly  investigated  the  Big  Calcutta  Stink?  There 
is  only  one.  Benares  is  fouler  in  point  of  concentrated, 
pent-up  muck,  and  there  are  local  stenches  in  Peshawar 
which  are  stronger  than  the  B.  C.  S. ;  but,  for  diffused, 
soul-sickening  expansiveness,  the  reek  of  Calcutta  beats 
both  Benares  and  Peshawar.  Bombay  cloaks  her  stenches 
with  a  veneer  of  assafcetida  and  tobacco;  Calcutta  is 
above  pretence.  There  is  no  tracing  back  the  Calcutta 
plague  to  any  one  source.  It  is  faint,  it  is  sickly,  and 
it  is  indescribable;  but  Americans  at  the  Great  Eastern 
Hotel  say  that  it  is  something  like  the  smell  of  the 
Chinese  quarter  in  San  Francisco.  It  is  certainly  not 
an  Indian  smell.  It  resembles  the  essence  of  corruption 
that  has  rotted  for  the  second  time  —  the  clammy  odour 
of  blue  slime.  And  there  is  no  escape  from  it.  It  blows 
across  the  maidan;  it  comes  in  gusts  into  the  corridors 


188  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

of  the  Great  Eastern  Hotel;  what  they  are  pleased  to 
call  the  "  Palaces  of  Chowringhi "  carry  it ;  it  swirls  round 
the  Bengal  Club;  it  pours  out  of  by-streets  with  sick- 
ening intensity,  and  the  breeze  of  the  morning  is  laden 
with  it.  It  is  first  found,  in  spite  of  the  fume  of  the 
engines,  in  Howrah  Station.  It  seems  to  be  worst  in 
the  little  lanes  at  the  back  of  Lai  Bazar  where  the 
drinking-shops  are,  but  it  is  nearly  as  bad  opposite  Gov- 
ernment House  and  in  the  Public  Offices.  The  thing  is 
intermittent.  Six  moderately  pure  mouthfuls  of  air  may 
be  drawn  without  offence.  Then  comes  the  seventh  wave 
and  the  queasiness  of  an  uncultured  stomach.  If  you 
live  long  enough  in  Calcutta  you  grow  used  to  it.  The 
regular  residents  admit  the  disgrace,  but  their  answer 
is :  "  Wait  till  the  wind  blows  off  the  Salt  Lakes  where 
all  the  sewage  goes,  and  then  you'll  smell  something." 
That  is  their  defence !  Small  wonder  that  they  consider 
Calcutta  is  a  fit  place  for  a  permanent  Viceroy.  English- 
men who  can  calmly  extenuate  one  shame  by  another  are 
capable  of  asking  for  anything  —  and  expecting  to  get  it. 
If  an  up-country  station  holding  three  thousand  troops 
and  twenty  civilians  owned  such  a  possession  as  Calcutta 
does,  the  Deputy  Commissioner  or  the  Cantonment  Magis- 
trate would  have  all  the  natives  off  the  board  of  manage- 
ment or  decently  shovelled  into  the  background  until  the 
mess  was  abated.  Then  they  might  come  on  again  and 
talk  of  "high-handed  oppression  "  as  much  as  they  liked. 
That  stink,  to  an  unprejudiced  nose,  damns  Calcutta  as 
a  City  of  Kings.  And,  in  spite  of  that  stink,  they 
allow,  they  even  encourage,  natives  to  look  after  the 
place !  The  damp,  drainage-soaked  soil  is  sick  with  the 
teeming  life  of  a  hundred  years,  and  the  Municipal 


CITY  OF  DBEADFUL  NIGHT          189 

Board  list  is  choked  with  the  names  of  natives  —  men 
of  the  breed  born  in  and  raised  off  this  surfeited  muck- 
heap!  They  own  property,  these  amiable  Aryans  on  the 
Municipal  and  the  Bengal  Legislative  Council.  Launch 
a  proposal  to  tax  them  on  that  property,  and  they  natu- 
rally howl.  They  also  howl  up-country,  but  there  the 
halls  for  mass-meetings  are  few,  and  the  vernacular 
papers  fewer,  and  with  a  strong  Secretary  and  a 
President  whose  favour  is  worth  the  having  and  whose 
wrath  is  undesirable,  men  are  kept  clean  despite  them- 
selves, and  may  not  poison  their  neighbours.  Why, 
asks  a  savage,  let  them  vote  at  all?  They  can  put  up 
with  this  filthiness.  They  cannot  have  any  feelings 
worth  caring  a  rush  for.  Let  them  live  quietly  and 
hide  away  their  money  under  our  protection,  while  we 
tax  them  till  they  know  through  their  purses  the  measure 
of  their  neglect  in  the  past,  and  when  a  little  of  the 
smell  has  been  abolished,  let  us  bring  them  back  again 
to  talk  and  take  the  credit  of  enlightenment.  The  better 
classes  own  their  broughams  and  barouches;  the  worse 
can  shoulder  an  Englishman  into  the  kennel  and  talk 
to  him  as  though  he  were  a  cook.  They  can  refer 
to  an  English  lady  as  an  aurat;  they  are  permitted  a 
freedom  —  not  to  put  it  too  coarsely  —  of  speech  which, 
if  used  by  an  Englishman  toward  an  Englishman,  would 
end  in  serious  trouble.  They  are  fenced  and  protected 
and  made  inviolate.  Surely  they  might  be  content  with 
all  those  things  without  entering  into  matters  which  they 
cannot,  by  the  nature  of  their  birth,  understand. 

Now,  whether  all  this  genial  diatribe  be  the  outcome 
of  an  unbiassed  mind  or  the  result  first  of  sickness  caused 
by  that  ferocious  stench,  and  secondly  of  headache  due 


190  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

to  day-long  smoking  to  drown  the  stench,  is  an  open 
question.  Anyway,  Calcutta  is  a  fearsome  place  for  a 
man  not  educated  up  to  it. 

A  word  of  advice  to  other  barbarians.  Do  not  bring 
a  north-country  servant  into  Calcutta.  He  is  sure  to  get 
into  trouble,  because  he  does  not  understand  the  customs 
of  the  city.  A  Punjabi  in  this  place  for  the  first  time 
esteems  it  his  bounden  duty  to  go  to  the  Ajaib-ghar  — 
the  Museum.  Such  an  one  has  gone  and  is  even  now 
returned  very  angry  and  troubled  in  the  spirit.  "  I  went 
to  the  Museum,"  says  he,  "  and  no  one  gave  me  any  abuse. 
I  went  to  the  market  to  buy  my  food,  and  then  I  sat 
upon  a  seat.  There  came  an  orderly  who  said,  'Go 
away,  I  want  to  sit  here.'  I  said,  'I  am  here  first.' 
He  said,  'I  am  a  chaprassi!  get  out  ! '  and  he  hit  me. 
Now  that  sitting-place  was  open  to  all,  so  I  hit  him  till 
he  wept.  He  ran  away  for  the  Police,  and  I  went  away 
too,  for  the  Police  here  are  all  Sahibs.  Can  I  have  leave 
from  two  o'clock  to  go  and  look  for  that  man  and  hit 
him  again?" 

Behold  the  situation!  An  unknown  city  full  of  smell 
that  makes  one  long  for  rest  and  retirement,  and  a 
champing  servant,  not  yet  six  hours  in  the  stew,  who 
has  started  a  blood-feud  with  an  unknown  chaprassi  and 
clamours  to  go  forth  to  the  fray. 

Alas !  for  the  lost  delusion  of  the  heritage  that  was  to 
be  restored.  Let  us  sleep,  let  us  sleep,  and  pray  that 
Calcutta  may  be  better  to-morrow. 

At  present  it  is  remarkably  like  sleeping  with  a 
corpse. 


CHAPTEE  II 

THE    REFLECTIONS    OF    A    SAVAGE. 

MORNING  brings  counsel.  Does  Calcutta  smell  so  pes- 
tiferously after  all?  Heavy  rain  has  fallen  in  the  night. 
She  is  newly  washed,  and  the  clear  sunlight  shows  her 
at  her  best.  Where,  oh  where,  in  all  this  wilderness  of 
life  shall  a  man  go? 

The  Great  Eastern  hums  with  life  through  all  its  hun- 
dred rooms.  Doors  slam  merrily,  and  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth  run  up  and  down  the  staircases.  This  alone  is 
refreshing,  because  the  passers  bump  you  and  ask  you  to 
stand  aside.  Fancy  finding  any  place  outside  the  Levee- 
room  where  Englishmen  are  crowded  together  to  this 
extent!  Fancy  sitting  down  seventy  strong  to  tdble 
d'hdte  and  with  a  deafening  clatter  of  knives  and  forks ! 
Fancy  finding  a  real  bar  whence  drinks  may  be  obtained! 
and,  joy  of  joys,  fancy  stepping  out  of  the  hotel  into  the 
arms  of  a  live,  white,  helmeted,  buttoned,  truncheoned 
Bobby!  What  would  happen  if  one  spoke  to  this  Bobby? 
Would  he  be  offended?  He  is  not  offended.  He  is  affable. 
He  has  to  patrol  the  pavement  in  front  of  the  Great  East- 
ern and  to  see  that  the  crowding  carriages  do  not  jam. 
Toward  a  presumably  respectable  white  he  behaves  as 
a  man  and  a  brother.  There  is  no  arrogance  about  him. 
And  this  is  disappointing.  Closer  inspection  shows  that 
he  is  not  a  real  Bobby  after  all.  He  is  a  Municipal 

191 


192  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

Police  something  and  his  uniform  is  not  correct ;  at  least 
if  they  have  not  changed  the  dress  of  the  men  at  home. 
But  no  matter.  Later  on  we  will  inquire  into  the  Cal- 
cutta Bobby,  because  he  is  a  white  man,  and  has  to  deal 
with  some  of  the  "toughest"  folk  that  ever  set  out  of 
malice  aforethought  to  paint  Job  Charnock's  city  ver- 
milion. You  must  not,  you  cannot  cross  Old  Court 
House  Street  without  looking  carefully  to  see  that  you 
stand  no  chance  of  being  run  over.  This  is  beautiful. 
There  is  a  steady  roar  of  traffic,  cut  every  two  minutes 
by  the  deep  roll  of  the  trams.  The  driving  is  eccentric, 
not  to  say  bad,  but  there  is  the  traffic  —  more  than  un- 
sophisticated eyes  have  beheld  for  a  certain  number  of 
years.  It  means  business,  it  means  money-making,  it 
means  crowded  and  hurrying  life,  and  it  gets  into  the 
blood  and  makes  it  move.  Here  be  big  shops  with  plate- 
glass  fronts  —  all  displaying  the  well-known  names  of 
firms  that  we  savages  only  correspond  with  through  the 
Parcels  Post.  They  are  all  here,  as  large  as  life,  ready 
to  supply  anything  you  need  if  you  only  care  to  sign. 
Great  is  the  fascination  of  being  able  to  obtain  a  thing 
on  the  spot  without  having  to  write  for  a  week  and 
wait  for  a  month,  and  then  get  something  quite  differ- 
ent. No  wonder  pretty  ladies,  who  live  anywhere  within 
a  reasonable  distance,  come  down  to  do  their  shopping 
personally. 

"Look  here.  If  you  want  to  be  respectable  you 
mustn't  smoke  in  the  streets.  Nobody  does  it."  This 
is  advice  kindly  tendered  by  a  friend  in  a  black  coat. 
There  is  no  Leve"e  or  Lieutenant- Governor  in  sight;  but 
he  wears  the  frock-coat  because  it  is  daylight,  and  he 
can  be  seen.  He  refrains  from  smoking  for  the  same 


CITY   OF  DREADFUL   NIGHT          193 

reason.  He  admits  that  Providence  built  the  open  air 
to  be  smoked  in,  but  he  says  that  "it  isn't  the  thing." 
This  man  has  a  brougham,  a  remarkably  natty  little  pill- 
box with  a  curious  wabble  about  the  wheels.  He  steps 
into  the  brougham  and  puts  on  —  a  top-hat,  a  shiny  black 
"plug." 

There  was  a  man  up-country  once  who  owned  a  top- 
hat.  He  leased  it  to  amateur  theatrical  companies  for 
some  seasons  until  the  nap  wore  off.  Then  he  threw  it 
into  a  tree  and  wild  bees  hived  in  it.  Men  were  wont 
to  come  and  look  at  the  hat,  in  its  palmy  days,  for  the 
sake  of  feeling  homesick.  It  interested  all  the  station, 
and  died  with  two  seers  of  frafo^-flower  honey  in  its 
bosom.  But  top-hats  are  not  intended  to  be  worn  in 
India.  They  are  as  sacred  as  home  letters  and  old  rose- 
buds. The  friend  cannot  see  this.  He  allows  that  if 
he  stepped  out  of  his  brougham  and  walked  about  in  the 
sunshine  for  ten  minutes  he  would  get  a  bad  headache. 
In  half-an-hour  he  would  probably  die  of  sunstroke.  He 
allows  all  this,  but  he  keeps  to  his  Hat  and  cannot  see 
why  a  barbarian  is  moved  to  inextinguishable  laughter 
at  the  sight.  Every  one  who  owns  a  brougham  and  many 
people  who  hire  ticca-gharis  keep  top-hats  and  black 
frock-coats.  The  effect  is  curious,  and  at  first  fills  the 
beholder  with  surprise. 

And  now,  "let  us  see  the  handsome  houses  where  the 
wealthy  nobles  dwell."  Northerly  lies  the  great  human 
jungle  of  the  native  city,  stretching  from  Burra  Bazar 
to  Chitpore.  That  can  keep.  Southerly  is  the  maidan 
and  Chowringhi.  "  If  you  get  out  into  the  centre  of  the 
maidan  you  will  understand  why  Calcutta  is  called  the 
City  of  Palaces."  The  travelled  American  said  so  at 

VOL.  II  —  O 


194  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  Great  Eastern.  There  is  a  short  tower,  falsely  called 
a  "memorial,"  standing  in  a  waste  of  soft,  sour  green. 
That  is  as  good  a  place  to  get  to  as  any  other.  The  size 
of  the  maidan  takes  the  heart  out  of  any  one  accustomed 
to  the  "  gardens  "  of  up-country,  just  as  they  say  New- 
market Heath  cows  a  horse  accustomed  to  more  a  shut-in 
course.  The  huge  level  is  studded  with  brazen  statues 
of  eminent  gentlemen  riding  fretful  horses  on  diaboli- 
cally severe  curbs.  The  expanse  dwarfs  the  statues, 
dwarfs  everything  except  the  frontage  of  the  far-away 
Chowringhi  Road.  It  is  big  —  it  is  impressive.  There 
is  no  escaping  the  fact.  They  built  houses  in  the  old 
days  when  the  rupee  was  two  shillings  and  a  penny. 
Those  houses  are  three-storied,  and  ornamented  with 
service-staircases  like  houses  in  the  Hills.  They  are 
very  close  together,  and  they  have  garden  walls  of 
masonry  pierced  with  a  single  gate.  In  their  shut- 
upness  they  are  British.  In  their  spaciousness  they  are 
Oriental,  but  those  service-staircases  do  not  look  healthy. 
We  will  form  an  amateur  sanitary  commission  and  call 
upon  Chowringhi. 

A  first  introduction  to  the  Calcutta  durwdn  or 
door-keeper  is  not  nice.  If  he  is  chewing  pdn,  he 
does  not  take  the  trouble  to  get  rid  of  his  quid. 
If  he  is  sitting  on  his  cot  chewing  sugar-cane,  he 
does  not  think  it  worth  his  while  to  rise.  He 
has  to  be  taught  those  things,  and  he  cannot  under- 
stand why  he  should  be  reproved.  Clearly  he  is  a 
survival  of  a  played-out  system.  Providence  never  in- 
tended that  any  native  should  be  made  a  concierge  more 
insolent  than  any  of  the  French  variety.  The  people  of 
Calcutta  put  a  man  in  a  little  lodge  close  to  the  gate 


CITY  OF  DKEADFUL  NIGHT          195 

of  their  house,  in  order  that  loafers  may  be  turned  away, 
and  the  houses  protected  from  theft.  The  natural  result 
is  that  the  dunvdn  treats  everybody  whom  he  does  not 
know  as  a  loafer,  has  an  intimate  and  vendible  know- 
ledge of  all  the  outgoings  and  incomings  in  that  house, 
and  controls,  to  a  large  extent,  the  nomination  of  the 
servant.  They  say  that  one  of  the  estimable  class  is 
now  suing  a  bank  for  about  three  lakhs  of  rupees.  Up- 
country,  a  Lieutenant-Governor's  servant  has  to  work 
for  thirty  years  before  he  can  retire  on  seventy  thousand 
rupees  of  savings.  The  Calcutta  durwdn  is  a  great  in- 
stitution. The  head  and  front  of  his  offence  is  that  he 
will  insist  upon  trying  to  talk  English.  How  he  pro- 
tects the  houses  Calcutta  only  knows.  He  can  be 
frightened  out  of  his  wits  by  severe  speech,  and  is 
generally  asleep  in  calling  hours.  If  a  rough  round  of 
visits  be  any  guide,  three  times  out  of  seven  he  is 
fragrant  of  drink.  So  much  for  the  dunvdn.  Now  for 
the  houses  he  guards. 

Very  pleasant  is  the  sensation  of  being  ushered  into 
a  pestiferously  stablesome  drawing-room.  "Does  this 
always  happen?"  "No,  not  unless  you  shut  up  the 
room  for  some  time;  but  if  you  open  the  shutters  there 
are  other  smells.  You  see  the  stables  and  the  servants' 
quarters  are  close  to."  People  pay  five  hundred  a  month 
for  half-a-dozen  rooms  filled  with  scents  of  this  kind. 
They  make  no  complaint.  When  they  think  the  honour 
of  the  city  is  at  stake  they  say  defiantly :  "  Yes,  but  you 
must  remember  we're  a  metropolis.  We  are  crowded 
here.  We  have  no  room.  We  aren't  like  your  little 
stations."  Chowringhi  is  a  stately  place  full  of  sumptu- 
ous houses,  but  it  is  best  to  look  at  it  hastily.  Stop  to 


196  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

consider  for  a  moment  what  the  cramped  compounds, 
the  black  soaked  soil,  the  netted  intricacies  of  the  ser- 
vice-staircases, the  packed  stables,  the  scethment  of 
human  life  round  the  durwdns'  lodges  and  the  curious 
arrangement  of  little  open  drains  mean,  and  you  will 
call  it  a  whited  sepulchre. 

Men  living  in  expensive  tenements  suffer  from  chronic 
sore  throat,  and  will  tell  you  cheerily  that  "we've  got 
typhoid  in  Calcutta  now."  Is  the  pest  ever  out  of  it? 
Everything  seems  to  be  built  with  a  view  to  its  comfort. 
It  can  lodge  comfortably  on  roofs,  climb  along  from  the 
gutter-pipe  to  piazza,  or  rise  from  sink  to  verandah  and 
thence  to  the  topmost  story.  But  Calcutta  says  that  all 
is  sound  and  produces  figures  to  prove  it;  at  the  same 
time  admitting  that  healthy  cut  flesh  will  not  readily 
heal.  Further  evidence  may  be  dispensed  with. 

Here  come  pouring  down  Park  Street  on  the  maiddn 
a  rush  of  broughams,  neat  buggies,  the  lightest  of  gigs, 
trim  office  brownberrys,  shining  victorias,  and  a  sprin- 
kling of  veritable  hansom  cabs.  In  the  broughams  sit 
men  in  top-hats.  In  the  other  carts,  young  men,  all 
very  much  alike,  and  all  immaculately  turned  out.  A 
fresh  stream  from  Chowringhi  joins  the  Park  Street 
detachment,  and  the  two  together  stream  away  across 
the  maiddn  toward  the  business  quarter  of  the  city. 
This  is  Calcutta  going  to  office  —  the  civilians  to  the 
Government  Buildings  and  the  young  men  to  their  firms 
and  their  blocks  and  their  wharves.  Here  one  sees  that 
Calcutta  has  the  best  turn-out  in  the  Empire.  Horses 
and  traps  alike  are  enviably  perfect,  and  —  mark  the 
touchstone  of  civilization  —  the  lamps  are  in  their 
sockets!  The  country -bred  is  a  rare  beast  here;  his 


CITY   OF   DREADFUL  NIGHT          197 

place  is  taken  by  the  waler,  and  the  waler,  though 
a  ruffian  at  heart,  can  be  made  to  look  like  a  gentleman. 
It  would  be  indecorous  to  applaud  the  winking  har- 
ness, the  perfectly  lacquered  panels,  and  the  liveried 
saises.  They  show  well  in  the  outwardly  fair  roads 
shadowed  by  the  Palaces. 

How  many  sections  of  the  complex  society  of  the  place 
do  the  carts  carry?  First,  the  Bengal  Civilian  who  goes 
to  Writers'  Buildings  and  sits  in  a  perfect  office  and 
speaks  flippantly  of  "sending  things  into  India,"  mean- 
ing thereby  referring  matters  to  the  Supreme  Govern- 
ment. He  is  a  great  person,  and  his  mouth  is  full  of 
promotion-and-appointment  "shop."  Generally  he  is 
referred  to  as  a  "rising  man."  Calcutta  seems  full  of 
"rising  men."  Secondly,  the  Government  of  India  man, 
who  wears  a  familiar  Simla  face,  rents  a  flat  when  he  is 
not  up  in  the  Hills,  and  is  rational  on  the  subject  of 
the  drawbacks  of  Calcutta.  Thirdly,  the  man  of  the 
"firms,"  the  pure  non-official  who  fights  under  the  ban- 
ner of  one  of  the  great  houses  of  the  City,  or  for  his  own 
hand  in  a  neat  office,  or  dashes  about  Clive  Street  in  a 
brougham  doing  "  share  work "  or  something  of  the 
kind.  He  fears  not  "Bengal,"  nor  regards  he  "India." 
He  swears  impartially  at  both  when  their  actions  inter- 
fere with  his  operations.  His  "shop"  is  quite  unin- 
telligible. He  is  like  the  English  city  man  with  the 
chill  off,  lives  well  and  entertains  hospitably.  In  the 
old  days  he  was  greater  than  he  is  now,  but  still  he 
bulks  large.  He  is  rational  in  so  far  that  he  will  help 
the  abuse  of  the  Municipality,  but  womanish  in  his 
insistence  on  the  excellencies  of  Calcutta.  Over  and 
above  these  who  are  hurrying  to  work  are  the  various 


198  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

brigades,  squads,  and  detachments  of  the  other  interests. 
But  they  are  sets  and  not  sections,  and  revolve  round 
Belvedere,  Government  House,  and  Fort  William. 
Simla  and  Darjeeling  claim  them  in  the  hot  weather. 
Let  them  go.  They  wear  top-hats  and  frock-coats. 

It  is  time  to  escape  from  Chowringhi  Road  and  get 
among  the  long-shore  folk,  who  have  no  prejudices 
against  tobacco,  and  who  all  use  very  much  the  same 
sort  of  hat. 


CHAPTEE  III 

THE   COUNCIL    OF    THE    GODS. 

He  set  up  conclusions  to  the  number  of  nine  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  sixty-four  ...  he  went  afterwards  to  the  Sorbonne, 
where  he  maintained  argument  against  the  theologians  for  the 
space  of  six  weeks,  from  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  six  in  the 
evening,  except  for  an  interval  of  two  hours  to  refresh  themselves 
and  take  their  repasts,  and  at  this  were  present  the  greatest  part 
of  the  lords  of  the  court,  the  masters  of  request,  presidents,  coun- 
sellors, those  of  the  accompts,  secretaries,  advocates,  and  others ; 
as  also  the  sheriffs  of  the  said  town.  —  Pantagruel. 

"  THE  Bengal  Legislative  Council  is  sitting  now.  You 
will  find  it  in  an  octagonal  wing  of  Writers'  Buildings : 
straight  across  the  maiddn.  It's  worth  seeing."  "  What 
are  they  sitting  on?  "  "  Municipal  business.  No  end  of 
a  debate."  So  much  for  trying  to  keep  low  company. 
The  long-shore  loafers  must  stand  over.  Without  doubt 
this  Council  is  going  to  hang  some  one  for  the  state  of 
the  City,  and  Sir  Steuart  Bayley  will  be  chief  execu- 
tioner. One  does  not  come  across  councils  every  day. 

Writers'  Buildings  are  large.  You  can  trouble  the 
busy  workers  of  half-a-dozen  departments  before  you 
stumble  upon  the  black-stained  staircase  that  leads  to 
an  upper  chamber  looking  out  over  a  populous  street. 
Wild  orderlies  block  the  way.  The  Councillor  Sahibs 
are  sitting,  but  any  one  can  enter.  "To  the  right  of 

199 


200  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

the  Lat  Sahib's  chair,  and  go  quietly."  Ill-mannered 
minion!  Does  he  expect  the  awe-stricken  spectator 
to  prance  in  with  a  war-whoop  or  turn  Catherine- 
wheels  round  that  sumptuous  octagonal  room  with  the 
blue-domed  roof  ?  There  are  gilt  capitals  to  the  half 
pillars  and  an  Egyptian  patterned  lotus-stencil  makes 
the  walls  gay.  A  thick  piled  carpet  covers  all  the  floor, 
and  must  be  delightful  in  the  hot  weather.  On  a  black 
wooden  throne,  comfortably  cushioned  in  green  leather, 
sits  Sir  Steuart  Bayley,  Ruler  of  Bengal.  The  rest  are 
all  great  men,  or  else  they  would  not  be  there.  Not 
to  know  them  argues  oneself  unknown.  There  are  a 
dozen  of  them,  and  sit  six  aside  at  two  slightly  curved 
lines  of  beautifully  polished  desks.  Thus  Sir  Steuart 
Bayley  occupies  the  frog  of  a  badly  made  horse-shoe 
split  at  the  toe.  In  front  of  him,  at  a  table  covered 
with  books  and  pamphlets  and  papers,  toils  a  secretary. 
There  is  a  seat  for  the  Reporters,  and  that  is  all.  The 
place  enjoys  a  chastened  gloom,  and  its  very  atmosphere 
fills  one  with  awe.  This  is  the  heart  of  Bengal,  and 
uncommonly  well  upholstered.  If  the  work  matches  the 
first-class  furniture,  the  inkpots,  the  carpet,  and  the 
resplendent  ceilings,  there  will  be  something  worth  see- 
ing. But  where  is  the  criminal  who  is  to  be  hanged  for 
the  stench  that  runs  up  and  down  Writers'  Buildings 
staircases;  for  the  rubbish  heaps  in  the  Chitpore  Road; 
for  the  sickly  savour  of  Chowringhi ;  for  the  dirty  little 
tanks  at  the  back  of  Belvedere  ;  for  the  street  full  of 
small-pox  ;  for  the  reeking  ghari-stand  outside  the 
Great  Eastern;  for  the  state  of  the  stone  and  dirt 
pavements  ;  for  the  condition  of  the  gullies  of  Sham- 
pooker,  and  for  a  hundred  other  things  ? 


201 

"  This,  I  submit,  is  an  artificial  scheme  in  supersession 
of  Nature's  unit,  the  individual."  The  speaker  is  a 
slight,  spare  native  in  a  flat  hat-turban,  and  a  black 
alpaca  frock-coat.  He  looks  like  a  scribe  to  the  boot- 
heels,  and,  with  his  unvarying  smile  and  regulated 
gesticulation,  recalls  memories  of  up-country  courts. 
He  never  hesitates,  is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  word,  and 
never  in  one  sentence  repeats  himself.  He  talks  and 
talks  and  talks  in  a  level  voice,  rising  occasionally  half 
an  octave  when  a  point  has  to  be  driven  home.  Some 
of  his  periods  sound  very  familiar.  This,  for  instance, 
might  be  a  sentence  from  the  Mirror :  "  So  much  for  the 
principle.  Let  us  now  examine  how  far  it  is  supported 
by  precedent."  This  sounds  bad.  When  a  fluent  native 
is  discoursing  of  "principles"  and  "precedents,"  the 
chances  are  that  he  will  go  on  for  some  time.  More- 
over, where  is  the  criminal,  and  what  is  all  this  talk 
about  abstractions?  They  want  shovels  not  sentiments, 
in  this  part  of  the  world. 

A  friendly  whisper  brings  enlightenment :  "  They  are 
ploughing  through  the  Calcutta  Municipal  Bill  —  plu- 
rality of  votes,  you  know.  Here  are  the  papers."  And 
so  it  is !  A  mass  of  motions  and  amendments  on 
matters  relating  to  ward  votes.  Is  A  to  be  allowed  to 
give  two  votes  in  one  ward  and  one  in  another?  Is 
section  10  to  be  omitted,  and  is  one  man  to  be  allowed 
one  vote  and  no  more?  How  many  votes  does  three 
hundred  rupees'  worth  of  landed  property  carry?  Is 
it  better  to  kiss  a  post  or  throw  it  in  the  fire  ?  Not 
a  word  about  carbolic  acid  and  gangs  of  sweepers.  The 
little  man  in  the  black  dressing-gown  revels  in  his  sub- 
ject. He  is  great  on  principles  and  precedents,  and 


202  FROM   SEA   TO  SEA 

the  necessity  of  "popularising  our  system."  He  fears 
that  under  certain  circumstances  "the  status  of  the 
candidates  will  decline."  He  riots  in  "self-adjusting 
majorities,"  and  "the  healthy  influence  of  the  educated 
middle  classes." 

For  a  practical  answer  to  this,  there  steals  across  the 
council  chamber  just  one  faint  whiff  of  the  Stink.  It 
is  as  though  some  one  laughed  low  and  bitterly.  But 
no  man  heeds.  The  Englishmen  look  supremely  bored, 
the  native  members  stare  stolidly  in  front  of  them. 
Sir  Steuart  Bayley's  face  is  as  set  as  the  face  of  the 
Sphinx.  For  these  things  he  draws  his  pay,  —  a  low 
wage  for  heavy  labour.  But  the  speaker,  now  adrift,  is 
not  altogether  to  be  blamed.  He  is  a  Bengali,  who  has 
got  before  him  just  such  a  subject  as  his  soul  loveth, — 
an  elaborate  piece  of  academical  reform  leading  no- 
where. Here  is  a  quiet  room  full  of  pens  and  papers, 
and  there  are  men  who  must  listen  to  him.  Apparently 
there  is  no  time  limit  to  the  speeches.  Can  you  wonder 
that  he  talks?  He  says  "I  submit"  once  every  ninety 
seconds,  varying  the  form  with  "I  do  submit,  the 
popular  element  in  the  electoral  body  should  have  prom- 
inence." Quite  so.  He  quotes  one  John  Stuart  Mill  to 
prove  i>t.  There  steals  over  the  listener  a  numbing 
sense  of  nightmare.  He  has  heard  all  this  before  some- 
where—  yea;  even  down  to  J.  S.  Mill  and  the  references 
to  the  "true  interests  of  the  ratepayers."  He  sees  what 
is  coming  next.  Yes,  there  is  the  old  Sabha,  Aujuman 
journalistic  formula  —  "Western  education  is  an  exotic 
plant  of  recent  importation."  How  on  earth  did  this 
man  drag  Western  education  into  this  discussion  ? 
Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  Sir  Steuart  Bay  ley  does.  He 


CITY  OF   DREADFUL  NIGHT          203 

seems  to  be  listening.  The  others  are  looking  at  their 
watches.  The  spell  of  the  level  voice  sinks  the  listener 
yet  deeper  into  a  trance.  He  is  haunted  by  the  ghosts 
of  all  the  cant  of  all  the  political  platforms  of  Great 
Britain.  He  hears  all  the  old,  old  vestry  phrases,  and 
once  more  he  smells  the  Smell.  That  is  no  dream. 
Western  education  is  an  exotic  plant.  It  is  the  upas 
tree,  and  it  is  all  our  fault.  We  brought  it  out  from 
England  exactly  as  we  brought  out  the  ink-bottles  and 
the  patterns  for  the  chairs.  We  planted  it  and  it 
grew  —  monstrous  as  a  banian.  Now  we  are  choked  by 
the  roots  of  it  spreading  so  thickly  in  this  fat  soil 
of  Bengal.  The  speaker  continues.  Bit  by  bit  we 
builded  this  dome,  visible  and  invisible,  the  crown  of 
Writers'  Buildings,  as  we  have  built  and  peopled  the 
buildings.  Now  we  have  gone  too  far  to  retreat,  being 
"  tied  and  bound  with  the  chain  of  our  own  sins."  The 
speech  continues.  We  made  that  florid  sentence.  That 
torrent  of  verbiage  is  Ours.  We  taught  him  what  was 
constitutional  and  what  was  unconstitutional  in  the  days 
when  Calcutta  smelt.  Calcutta  smells  still,  but  We 
must  listen  to  all  that  he  has  to  say  about  the  plurality 
of  votes  and  the  threshing  of  wind  and  the  weaving  of 
ropes  of  sand.  It  is  our  own  fault. 

The  speech  ends,  and  there  rises  a  grey  Englishman 
in  a  black  frock-coat.  He  looks  a  strong  man,  and  a 
worldly.  Surely  he  will  say,  "  Yes,  Lala  Sahib,  all  this 
may  be  true  talk,  but  there's  a  vile  smell  in  this 
place,  and  everything  must  be  cleaned  in  a  week,  or 
the  Deputy  Commissioner  will  not  take  any  notice  of 
you  in  durbar."  He  says  nothing  of  the  kind.  This 
is  a  Legislative  Council,  where  they  call  each  other 


204  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

"Honourable  So-and-So's."  The  Englishman  in  the 
frock-coat  begs  all  to  remember  that  "  we  are  discussing 
principles,  and  no  consideration  of  the  details  ought  to 
influence  the  verdict  on  the  principles."  Is  he  then  like 
the  rest?  How  does  this  strange  thing  come  about? 
Perhaps  these  so  English  office  fittings  are  responsible 
for  the  warp.  The  Council  Chamber  might  be  a  London 
Board-room.  Perhaps  after  long  years  among  the  pens 
and  papers  its  occupants  grew  to  think  that  it  really  is, 
and  in  this  belief  give  resumes  of  the  history  of  Local 
Self -Government  in  England. 

The  black  frock-coat,  emphasising  his  points  with  his 
spectacle-case,  is  telling  his  friends  how  the  parish  was 
first  the  unit  of  self-government.  He  then  explains  how 
burgesses  were  elected,  and  in  tones  of  deep  fervour 
announces,  "  Commissioners  of  Sewers  are  elected  in 
the  same  way."  Whereunto  all  this  lecture?  Is  he 
trying  to  run  a  motion  through  under  cover  of  a  cloud 
of  words,  essaying  the  well-known  "cuttle-fish  trick" 
of  the  West? 

He  abandons  England  for  a  while,  and  now  we  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  cloven  hoof  in  a  casual  reference  to 
Hindus  and  Mahometans.  The  Hindus  will  lose  nothing 
by  the  complete  establishment  of  plurality  of  votes. 
They  will  have  the  control  of  their  own  wards  as  they 
used  to  have.  So  there  is  race-feeling,  to  be  explained 
away,  even  among  these  beautiful  desks.  Scratch  the 
Council,  and  you  come  to  the  old,  old  trouble.  The 
black  frock-coat  sits  down,  and  a  keen-eyed,  black- 
bearded  Englishman  rises  with  one  hand  in  his  pocket 
to  explain  his  views  on  an  alteration  of  the  vote  quali- 
fication. The  idea  of  an  amendment  seems  to  have  just 


205 

struck  him.  He  hints  that  he  will  bring-  it  forward  later 
on.  He  is  academical  like  the  others,  but  not  half  so 
good  a  speaker.  All  this  is  dreary  beyond  words.  Why 
do  they  talk  and  talk  about  owners  and  occupiers  and 
burgesses  in  England  and  the  growth  of  autonomous 
institutions  when  the  city,  the  great  city,  is  here  crying 
out  to  be  cleansed?  "What  has  England  to  do  with  Cal- 
cutta's evil,  and  why  should  Englishmen  be  forced  to 
wander  through  mazes  of  unprofitable  argument  against 
men  who  cannot  understand  the  iniquity  of  dirt? 

A  pause  follows  the  black-bearded  man's  speech. 
Rises  another  native,  a  heavily  built  Babu,  in  a  black 
gown  and  a  strange  head-dress.  A  snowy  white  strip 
of  cloth  is  thrown  duster-wise  over  his  shoulders.  His 
voice  is  high,  and  not  always  under  control.  He  begins, 
"I  will  try  to  be  as  brief  as  possible."  This  is  ominous. 
By  the  way,  in  Council  there  seems  to  be  no  necessity 
for  a  form  of  address.  The  orators  plunge  in  medias  res, 
and  only  when  they  are  well  launched  throw  an  occa- 
sional "  Sir  "  towards  Sir  Steuart  Bayley,  who  sits  with 
one  leg  doubled  under  him  and  a  dry  pen  in  his  hand. 
This  speaker  is  no  good.  He  talks,  but  he  says  nothing, 
and  he  only  knows  where  he  is  drifting  to.  He  says : 
"We  must  remember  that  we  are  legislating  for  the 
Metropolis  of  India,  and  therefore  we  should  borrow 
our  institutions  from  large  English  towns,  and  not  from 
parochial  institutions."  If  you  think  for  a  minute,  that 
shows  a  large  and  healthy  knowledge  of  the  history  of 
Local  Self-Government.  It  also  reveals  the  attitude  of 
Calcutta.  .  If  the  city  thought  less  about  itself  as  a 
metropolis  and  more  as  a  midden,  its  state  would  be 
better.  The  speaker  talks  patronisingly  of  "my  friend," 


206  FEQM  SEA  TO   SEA 

alluding  to  the  black  frock-coat.  Then  he  flounders 
afresh,  and  his  voice  gallops  up  the  gamut  as  he  de- 
clares, "and  therefore  that  makes  all  the  difference." 
He  hints  vaguely  at  threats,  something  to  do  with  the 
Hindus  and  the  Mahometans,  but  what  he  means  it  is 
difficult  to  discover.  Here,  however,  is  a  sentence  taken 
verbatim.  It  is  not  likely  to  appear  in  this  form  in  the 
Calcutta  papers.  The  black  frock-coat  had  said  that  if 
a  wealthy  native  "  had  eight  votes  to  his  credit,  his  vanity 
would  prompt  him  to  go  to  the  polling-booth,  because  he 
would  feel  better  than  half-a-dozen  ghari-wans  or  petty 
traders."  (Fancy  allowing  a  ghari-wan  to  vote!  He 
has  yet  to  learn  how  to  drive !)  Hereon  the  gentleman 
with  the  white  cloth :  "  Then  the  complaint  is  that  in- 
fluential voters  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  vote  ?  In 
my  humble  opinion,  if  that  be  so,  adopt  voting-papers. 
That  is  the  way  to  meet  them.  In  the  same  way  —  The 
Calcutta  Trades'  Association  —  you  abolish  all  plurality 
of  votes:  and  that  is  the  way  to  meet  them."  Lucid,  is 
it  not?  Up  flies  the  irresponsible  voice,  and  delivers 
this  statement,  "  In  the  election  for  the  House  of  Com- 
mons plurality  are  allowed  for  persons  having  interest 
in  different  districts."  Then  hopeless,  hopeless  fog.  It 
is  a  great  pity  that  India  ever  heard  of  anybody  higher 
than  the  heads  of  the  Civil  Service.  Once  more  a  whiff 
of  the  Stink.  The  gentleman  gives  a  defiant  jerk  of  his 
shoulder-cloth,  and  sits  down. 

Then  Sir  Steuart  Bayley:  "The  question  before  the 
Council  is,"  etc.  There  is  a  ripple  of  "Ayes"  and 
"Noes,"  and  the  "Noes"  have  it,  whatever  it  may  be. 
The  black-bearded  gentleman  springs  his  amendment 
about  the  voting  qualifications.  A  large  senator  in  a 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT          207 

white  waistcoat,  and  with,  a  most  genial  smile,  rises 
and  proceeds  to  smash  up  the  amendment.  Can't  see 
the  use  of  it.  Calls  it  in  effect  rubbish.  The  black 
dressing-gown,  he  who  spoke  first  of  all,  speaks  again, 
and  talks  of  the  "  sojourner  who  comes  here  for  a  little 
time,  and  then  leaves  the  land."  Well  it  is  for  the  black 
gown  that  the  sojourner  does  come,  or  there  would  be  no 
comfy  places  wherein  to  talk  about  the  power  that  can 
be  measured  by  wealth  and  the  intellect  "  which,  sir,  I 
submit,  cannot  be  so  measured."  .  The  amendment  is 
lost;  and  trebly  and  quadruply  lost  is  the  listener.  In 
the  name  of  sanity  and  to  preserve  the  tattered  shirt- 
tails  of  a  torn  illusion,  let  us  escape.  This  is  the  Cal- 
cutta Municipal  Bill.  They  have  been  at  it  for  several 
Saturdays.  Last  Saturday  Sir  Steuart  Bayley  pointed 
out  that  at  their  present  rate  they  would  be  about  two 
years  in  getting  it  through.  Now  they  will  sit  till 
dusk,  unless  Sir  Steuart  Bayley,  who  wants  to  see  Lord 
Connemara  off,  puts  up  the  black  frock-coat  to  move  an 
adjournment.  It  is  not  good  to  see  a  Government  close 
to.  This  leads  to  the  formation  of  blatantly  self-satisfied 
judgments,  which  may  be  quite  as  wrong  as  the  cramping 
system  with  which  we  have  encompassed  ourselves.  And 
in  the  streets  outside  Englishmen  summarise  the  situa- 
tion brutally,  thus :  "  The  whole  thing  is  a  farce.  Time 
is  money  to  us.  We  can't  stick  out  those  everlasting 
speeches  in  the  municipality.  The  natives  choke  us  off, 
but  we  know  that  if  things  get  too  bad  the  Government 
will  step  in  and  interfere,  and  so  we  worry  along  some- 
how." 

Meantime    Calcutta    continues    to    cry   out    for    the 
bucket  and  the  broom. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  HUGLI. 

THE  clocks  of  the  city  have  struck  two.  Where  can  a 
man  get  food?  Calcutta  is  not  rich  in  respect  of  dainty 
accommodation.  You  can  stay  your  stomach  at  Peliti's 
or  Bonsard's,  but  their  shops  are  not  to  be  found  in 
Hastings  Street,  or  in  the  places  where  brokers  fly  to  and 
fro  in  office-jauns,  sweating  and  growing  visibly  rich. 
There  must  be  some  sort  of  entertainment  where  sailors 
congregate.  "Honest  Bombay  Jack"  supplies  nothing 
but  Burma  cheroots  and  whisky  in  liqueur-glasses,  but 
in  Lai  Bazar,  not  far  from  "The  Sailors'  Coffee-rooms," 
a  board  gives  bold  advertisement  that  "  officers  and  sea- 
men can  find  good  quarters."  In  evidence  a  row  of  neat 
officers  and  seamen  are  sitting  on  a  bench  by  the  "  hotel " 
door  smoking.  There  is  an  almost  military  likeness  in 
their  clothes.  Perhaps  "Honest  Bombay  Jack"  only 
keeps  one  kind  of  felt  hat  and  one  brand  of  suit.  When 
Jack  of  the  mercantile  marine  is  sober,  he  is  very  sober. 
When  he  is  drunk  he  is  —  but  ask  the  river  police  what 
a  lean,  mad  Yankee  can  do  with  his  nails  and  teeth. 
These  gentlemen  smoking  on  the  bench  are  impassive 
almost  as  Red  Indians.  Their  attitudes  are  unre- 
strained, and  they  do  not  wear  braces.  Nor,  it  would 
appear  from  the  bill  of  fare,  are  they  particular  as  to 
what  they  eat  when  they  attend  tdble  d'hdte.  The  fare  is 

208 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT          209 

substantial  and  the  regulation  "  peg  "  —  every  house  has 
its  own  depth  of  peg  if  you  will  refrain  from  stopping 
Ganymede  —  something  to  wonder  at.  Three  fingers 
and  a  trifle  over  seems  to  be  the  use  of  the  officers  and 
seamen  who  are  talking  so  quietly  in  the  doorway.  One 
says  —  he  has  evidently  finished  a  long  story  —  "  and  so 
he  shipped  for  four  pound  ten  with  a  first  mate's  certifi- 
cate and  all;  and  that  was  in  a  German  barque."  An- 
other spits  with  conviction  and  says  genially,  without 
raising  his  voice,  "  That  was  a  hell  of  a  ship.  Who  knows 
her?"  No  answer  from  the  assembly,  but  a  Dane  or  a 
German  wants  to  know  whether  the  Myra  is  "  up  "  yet. 
A  dry,  red-haired  man  gives  her  exact  position  in  the 
river  —  (How  in  the  world  can  he  know?) — and  the 
probable  hour  of  her  arrival.  The  grave  debate  drifts 
into  a  discussion  of  a  recent  river  accident,  whereby  a 
big  steamer  was  damaged,  and  had  to  put  back  and  dis- 
charge cargo.  A  burly  gentleman  who  is  taking  a  con- 
stitutional down  Lai  Bazar  strolls  up  and  says :  "  I  tell 
you  she  fouled  her  own  chain  with  her  own  forefoot. 
Hev  you  seen  the  plates?"  "No."  "Then  how  the 

can  any like  you say  what  it well 

was?"  He  passes  on,  having  delivered  his  highly 
flavored  opinion  without  heat  or  passion.  No  one  seems 
to  resent  the  garnish. 

Let  us  get  down  to  the  river  and  see  this  stamp  of  men 
more  thoroughly.  Clarke  Russell  has  told  us  that  their 
lives  are  hard  enough  in  all  conscience.  What  are  their 
pleasures  and  diversions?  The  Port  Office,  where  live 
the  gentlemen  who  make  improvements  in  the  Port  of 
Calcutta,  ought  to  supply  information.  It  stands  large 
and  fair,  and  built  in  an  orientalised  manner  after  the 

VOL.  II  —  P 


210  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

Italians  at  the  corner  of  Fairlie  Place  upon  the  great 
Strand  Road,  and  a  continual  clamour  of  traffic  by  land 
and  by  sea  goes  up  thoughout  the  day  and  far  into  the 
night  against  its  windows.  This  is  a  place  to  enter 
more  reverently  than  the  Bengal  Legislative  Council, 
for  it  controls  the  direction  of  the  uncertain  Hugli  down 
to  the  Sandheads,  owns  enormous  wealth,  and  spends 
huge  sums  on  the  f rontaging  of  river  banks,  the  expansion 
of  jetties,  and  the  manufacture  of  docks  costing  two 
hundred  lakhs  of  rupees.  Two  million  tons  of  sea-going 
shippage  yearly  find  their  way  up  and  down  the  river  by 
the  guidance  of  the  Port  Office,  and  the  men  of  the  Port 
Office  know  more  than  it  is  good  for  men  to  hold  in  their 
heads.  They  can  without  reference  to  telegraphic  bul- 
letins give  the  position  of  all  the  big  steamers,  coming 
up  or  going  down,  from  the  Hugli  to  the  sea,  day  by  day, 
with  their  tonnage,  the  names  of  their  captains  and  the 
nature  of  their  cargo.  Looking  out  from  the  verandah 
of  their  office  over  a  lancer-regiment  of  masts,  they  can 
declare  truthfully  the  name  of  every  ship  within  eye- 
scope,  with  the  day  and  hour  when  she  will  depart. 

In  a  room  at  the  bottom  of  the  building  lounge  big 
men,  carefully  dressed.  Now  there  is  a  type  of  face 
which  belongs  almost  exclusively  to  Bengal  Cavalry 
officers  —  majors  for  choice.  Everybody  knows  the 
bronzed,  black-moustached,  clear-speaking  Native  Cav- 
alry officer.  He  exists  unnaturally  in  novels,  and 
naturally  on  the  Frontier.  These  men  in  the  big  room 
have  his  cast  of  face  so  strongly  marked  that  one  mar- 
vels what  officers  are  doing  by  the  river^  "Have  they 
come  to  book  passengers  for  home?"  " Those  men! 
They're  pilots.  Some  of  them  draw  between  two  and 


CITY  OF  DKEADFUL  KIGHT          211 

three  thousand  rupees  a  month.  They  are  responsible 
for  half-a-million  pounds'  worth  of  cargo  sometimes." 
They  certainly  are  men,  and  they  carry  themselves  as 
such.  They  confer  together  by  twos  and  threes,  and 
appeal  frequently  to  shipping  lists. 

"  Isn't  a  pilot  a  man  who  always  wears  a  pea-jacket 
and  shouts  through  a  speaking-trumpet?  "  "  Well,  you 
can  ask  those  gentlemen  if  you  like.  You've  got  your 
notions  from  Home  pilots.  Ours  aren't  that  kind  exactly. 
They  are  a  picked  service,  as  carefully  weeded  as  the 
Indian  Civil.  Some  of  'em  have  brothers  in  it,  and 
some  belong  to  the  old  Indian  army  families."  But 
they  are  not  all  equally  well  paid.  The  Calcutta 
papers  echo  the  groans  of  the  junior  pilots  who  are  not 
allowed  the  handling  of  ships  over  a  certain  tonnage. 
As  it  is  yearly  growing  cheaper  to  build  one  big  steamer 
than  two  little  ones,  these  juniors  are  crowded  out, 
and,  while  the  seniors  get  their  thousands,  some  of  the 
youngsters  make  at  the  end  of  one  month  exactly  thirty 
rupees.  This  is  a  grievance  with  them;  and  it  seems 
well-founded. 

In  the  flats  above  the  pilot's  room  are  hushed  and 
chapel-like  offices,  all  sumptuously  fitted,  where  Eng- 
lishmen write  and  telephone  and  telegraph,  and  deft 
Babus  for  ever  draw  maps  of  the  shifting  Hugli.  Any 
hope  of  understanding  the  work  of  the  Port  Commis- 
sioners is  thoroughly  dashed  by  being  taken  through  the 
Port  maps  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  past.  Men  have 
played  with  the  Hugli  as  children  play  with  a  gutter- 
runnel,  and,  in  return,  the  Hugli  once  rose  and  played 
with  men  and  ships  till  the  Strand  Eoad  was  littered 
with  the  raffle  and  the  carcasses  of  big  ships.  There 


212  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

are  photos  on  the  walls  of  the  cyclone  of  '64,  when  the 
Tliunder  came  inland  and  sat  upon  an  American  barque, 
obstructing  all  the  traffic.  Very  curious  are  these  photos, 
and  almost  impossible  to  believe.  How  can  a  big,  strong 
steamer  have  her  three  masts  razed  to  deck  level?  How 
can  a  heavy,  country  boat  be  pitched  on  to  the  poop  of  a 
high-walled  liner?  and  how  can  the  side  be  bodily  torn 
out  of  a  ship?  The  photos  say  that  all  these  things  are 
possible,  and  men  aver  that  a  cyclone  may  come  again 
and  scatter  the  craft  like  chaff.  Outside  the  Port  Office 
are  the  export  and  import  sheds,  buildings  that  can  hold 
a  ship's  cargo  apiece,  all  standing  on  reclaimed  ground. 
Here  be  several  strong  smells,  a  mass  of  railway  lines, 
and  a  multitude  of  men.  "  Do  you  see  where  that  trolly 
is  standing,  behind  the  big  P.  and  0.  berth?  In  that 
place  as  nearly  as  may  be  the  Govindpur  went  down 
about  twenty  years  ago,  and  began  to  shift  out!  "  "But 
that  is  solid  ground."  "She  sank  there,  and  the  next 
tide  made  a  scour-hole  on  one  side  of  her.  The  return- 
ing tide  knocked  her  into  it.  Then  the  mud  made  up 
behind  her.  Next  tide  the  business  was  repeated  — 
always  the  scour-hole  in  the  mud  and  the  filling  up 
behind  her.  So  she  rolled,  and  was  pushed  out  and  out 
until  she  got  in  the  way  of  the  shipping  right  out 
yonder,  and  we  had  to  blow  her  up.  When  a  ship  sinks 
in  mud  or  quicksand  she  regularly  digs  her  own  grave 
and  wriggles  herself  into  it  deeper  and  deeper  till  she 
reaches  moderately  solid  stuff.  Then  she  sticks."  Hor- 
rible idea,  is  it  not,  to  go  down  and  down  with  each  tide 
into  the  foul  Hugli  mud? 

Close  to  the  Port  Offices  is  the  Shipping  Office,  where 
the  captains  engage  their  crews.     The  men  must  produce 


CITY   OF  DBEADFUL  NIGHT          213 

their  discharges  from  their  last  ships  in  the  presence 
of  the  shipping  master,  or,  as  they  call  him,  "The 
Deputy  Shipping."  He  passes  them  after  having  satis- 
fied himself  that  they  are  not  deserters  from  other  ships, 
and  they  then  sign  articles  for  the  voyage.  This  is  the 
ceremony,  beginning  with  the  "dearly  beloved"  of  the 
crew-hunting  captain  down  to  the  "amazement"  of 
the  deserter.  There  is  a  dingy  building,  next  door  to 
the  Sailors'  Home,  at  whose  gate  stand  the  cast-ups 
of  all 'the  seas  in  all  manner  of  raiment.  There  are 
the  Seedee  boys,  Bombay  serangs  and  Madras  fishermen 
of  the  salt  villages,  Malays  who  insist  upon  marrying 
Calcutta  women,  grow  jealous  and  run  amok;  Malay- 
Hindus,  Hindu-Malay-whites,  Burmese,  Burma-whites, 
Burma-native-whites,  Italians  with  gold  earrings  and  a 
thirst  for  gambling,  Yankees  of  all  the  States,  with 
Mulattoes  and  pure  buck -niggers,  red  and  rough  Danes, 
Cingalese,  Cornish  boys  fresh  taken  from  the  plough- 
tail,  "corn-stalks"  from  colonial  ships  where  they  got 
four  pound  ten  a  month  as  seamen,  tun-bellied  Ger- 
mans, Cockney  mates  keeping  a  little  aloof  from  the 
crowd  and  talking  in  knots  together,  unmistakable 
"  Tommies "  who  have  tumbled  into  seafaring  life  by 
some  mistake,  cockatoo-tufted  Welshmen  spitting  and 
swearing  like  cats,  broken-down  loafers,  grey-headed, 
penniless,  and  pitiful,  swaggering  boys,  and  very  quiet 
men  with  gashes  and  cuts  on  their  faces.  It  is  an 
ethnological  museum  where  all  the  specimens  are  play- 
ing comedies  and  tragedies.  The  head  of  it  all  is 
the  "Deputy  Shipping,"  and  he  sits,  supported  by  an 
English  policeman  whose  fists  are  knobby,  in  a  great 
Chair  of  State.  The  "  Deputy  Shipping  "  knows  all  the 


214  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

iniquity  of  the  river-side,  all  the  ships,  all  the  captains, 
and  a  fair  amount  of  the  men.  He  is  fenced  off  from 
the  crowd  by  a  strong  wooden  railing  behind  which 
are  gathered  the  unemployed  of  the  mercantile  marine. 
They  have  had  their  spree  —  poor  devils  —  and  now  they 
will  go  to  sea  again  on  as  low  a  wage  as  three  pound  ten 
a  month,  to  fetch  up  at  the  end  in  some  Shanghai  stew 
or  San  Francisco  hell.  They  have  turned  their  backs  on 
the  seductions  of  the  Howrah  boarding-houses  and  the 
delights  of  Colootollah.  If  Fate  will,  "  Nightingale's  " 
will  know  them  no  more  for  a  season.  But  what  skipper 
will  take  some  of  these  battered,  shattered  wrecks  whose 
hands  shake  and  whose  eyes  are  red? 

Enter  suddenly  a  bearded  captain,  who  has  made  his 
selection  from  the  crowd  on  a  previous  day,  and  now 
wants  to  get  his  men  passed.  He  is  not  fastidious  in 
his  choice.  His  eleven  seem  a  tough  lot  for  such  a  mild- 
eyed,  civil-spoken  man  to  manage.  But  the  captain  in 
the  Shipping  Office  and  the  captain  on  his  ship  are  two 
different  things.  He  brings  his  crew  up  to  the  "  Deputy 
Shipping's"  bar,  and  hands  in  their  greasy,  tattered 
discharges.  But  the  heart  of  the  "Deputy  Shipping" 
is  hot  within  him,  because,  two  days  ago,  a  Howrah 
crimp  stole  a  whole  crew  from  a  down-dropping  ship, 
insomuch  that  the  captain  had  to  come  back  and  whip 
up  a  new  crew  at  one  o'clock  in  the  day.  Evil  will  it 
be  if  the  "  Deputy  Shipping  "  finds  one  of  these  bounty- 
jumpers  in  the  chosen  crew  of  the  Blerikindoon. 

The  "Deputy  Shipping"  tells  the  story  with  heat. 
"I  didn't  know  they  did  such  things  in  Calcutta," 
says  the  captain.  "Do  such  things!  They'd  steal 
the  eye-teeth  out  of  your  head  there,  Captain."  He 


CITY  OF  DBEADFUL  NIGHT          215 

picks  up  a  discharge  and  calls  for  Michael  Donelly,  a 
loose-knit,  vicious-looking  Irish- American  who  chews. 
"Stand  up,  man,  stand  up!"  Michael  Donelly  wants 
to  lean  against  the  desk,  and  the  English  policeman 
won't  have  it.  "What  was  your  last  ship?"  "Fairy 
Queen."  "When  did  you  leave  her?"  "'Bout  'leven 
days."  "Captain's  name?"  "Flahy."  "That'll  do. 
Next  man:  Jules  Anderson."  Jules  Anderson  is  a 
Dane.  His  statements  tally  with  the  discharge-certifi- 
cate of  the  United  States,  as  the  Eagle  attesteth.  He 
is  passed  and  falls  back.  Slivey,  the  Englishman, 
and  David,  a  huge  plum-coloured  negro  who  ships  as 
cook,  are  also  passed.  Then  comes  Bassompra,  a  little 
Italian,  who  speaks  English.  "  What's  your  last  ship?  " 
"Ferdinand."  "No,  after  that?"  "German  barque." 
Bassompra  does  not  look  happy.  "When  did  she 
sail?  "  "  About  three  weeks  ago. "  "  What's  her  name  ?  " 
"  Haidee."  "  You  deserted  from  her?"  "  Yes,  but  she's 
left  port. "  The  "  Deputy  Shipping  "  runs  rapidly  through 
a  shipping-list,  throws  it  down  with  a  bang.  "  'T won't 
do.  No  German  barque  Haidee  here  for  three  months. 
How  do  I  know  you  don't  belong  to  the  Jackson's  crew? 
Cap'en,  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  ship  another  man. 
He  must  stand  over.  Take  the  rest  away  and  make  'em 
sign." 

The  bead-eyed  Bassompra  seems  to  have  lost  his 
chance  of  a  voyage,  and  his  case  will  be  inquired  into. 
The  captain  departs  with  his  men  and  they  sign  articles 
for  the  voyage,  while  the  "Deputy  Shipping"  tells 
strange  tales  of  the  sailorman's  life.  "They'll  quit  a 
good  ship  for  the  sake  of  a  spree,  and  catch  on  again  at 
three  pound  ten,  and  by  Jove,  they'll  let  their  skippers 


216  FROM  SEA   TO   SEA 

pay  'em  at  ten  rupees  to  the  sovereign  —  poor  beggars! 
As  soon  as  the  money's  gone  they'll  ship,  but  not  before. 
Every  one  under  rank  of  captain  engages  here.  The 
competition  makes  first-mates  ship  sometimes  for  five 
pounds  or  as  low  as  four  ten  a  month."  (The  gentle- 
man in  the  boarding-house  was  right,  you  see.)  "A 
first  mate's  wages  are  seven  ten  or  eight,  and  foreign 
captains  ship  for  twelve  pounds  a  month  and  bring  their 
own  small  stores  —  everything,  that  is  to  say,  except 
beef,  peas,  flour,  coffee,  and  molasses." 

These  things  are  not  pleasant  to  listen  to  while  the 
hungry-eyed  men  in  the  bad  clothes  lounge  and  scratch 
and  loaf  behind  the  railing.  What  comes  to  them  in 
the  end?  They  die,  it  seems,  though  that  is  not  alto- 
gether strange.  They  die  at  sea  in  strange  and  horrible 
ways;  they  die,  a  few  of  them,  in  the  Kintals,  being 
lost 'and  suffocated  in  the  great  sink  of  Calcutta;  they 
die  in  strange  places  by  the  water-side,  and  the  Hugli 
takes  them  away  under  the  mooring  chains  and  the 
buoys,  and  casts  them  up  on  the  sands  below,  if  the 
Eiver  Police  have  missed  the  capture.  They  sail  the  sea 
because  they  must  live ;  and  there  is  no  end  to  their  toil. 
Very,  very  few  find  haven  of  any  kind,  and  the  earth, 
whose  ways  they  do  not  understand,  is  cruel  to  them, 
when  they  walk  upon  it  to  drink  and  be  merry  after  the 
manner  of  beasts.  Jack  ashore  is  a  pretty  thing  when 
he  is  in  a  book  or  in  the  blue  jacket  of  the  Navy.  Mer- 
cantile Jack  is  not  so  lovely.  Later  on,  we  will  see 
where  his  "  sprees  "  lead  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

WITH    THE    CALCUTTA   POLICE. 

"  The  City  was  of  Night  —  perchance  of  Death, 
But  certainly  of  Night." 

— The  City  of  Dreadful  Night. 

IN  the  beginning,  the  Police  were  responsible.  They 
said  in  a  patronising  way  that  they  would  prefer  to 
take  a  wanderer  round  the  great  city  themselves,  sooner 
than  let  him  contract  a  broken  head  on  his  own  account 
in  the  slums.  They  said  that  there  were  places  and 
places  where  a  white  man,  unsupported  by  the  arm 
of  the  Law,  would  be  robbed  and  mobbed;  and  that 
there  were  other  places  where  drunken  seamen  would 
make  it  very  unpleasant  for  him. 

"Come  up  to  the  fire  look-out  in  the  first  place,  and 
then  you'll  be  able  to  see  the  city."  This  was  at  No.  22, 
Lai  Bazar,  which  is  the  headquarters  of  the  Calcutta 
Police,  the  centre  of  the  great  web  of  telephone  wires 
where  Justice  sits  all  day  and  all  night  looking  after 
one  million  people  and  a  floating  population  of  one 
hundred  thousand.  But  her  work  shall  be  dealt 
with  later  on.  The  fire  look-out  is  a  little  sentry-box 
on  the  top  of  the  three-storied  police  offices.  Here  a 
native  watchman  waits  to  give  warning  to  the  brigade 
below  if  the  smoke  rises  by  day  or  the  flames  by  night 
in  any  ward  of  the  city.  From  this  eyrie,  in  the  warm 

217 


218  FEOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

night,  one  hears  the  heart  of  Calcutta  beating.  North- 
ward, the  city  stretches  away  three  long  miles,  with 
three  more  miles  of  suburbs  beyond,  to  Dum-Dum  and 
Barrackpore.  The  lamplit  dusk  on  this  side  is  full  of 
noises  and  shouts  and  smells.  Close  to  the  Police  Office, 
jovial  mariners  at  the  sailors'  coffee-shop  are  roaring 
hymns.  Southerly,  the  city's  confused  lights  give  place 
to  the  orderly  lamp-rows  of  the  maiddn  and  Chowringhi, 
where  the  respectabilities  live  and  the  Police  have  very 
little  to  do.  From  the  east  goes  up  to  the  sky  the 
clamour  of  Sealdah,  the  rumble  of  the  trams,  and  the 
voices  of  all  Bow  Bazar  chaffering  and  making  merry. 
Westward  are  the  business  quarters,  hushed  now;  the 
lamps  of  the  shipping  on  the  river;  and  the  twinkling 
lights  on  the  Howrah  side.  "  Does  the  noise  of  traffic  go 
on  all  through  the  hot  weather?  "  "  Of  course.  The  hot 
months  are  the  busiest  in  the  year  and  money's  tightest. 
You  should  see  the  brokers  cutting  about  at  that  season. 
Calcutta  can't  stop,  my  dear  sir."  "What  happens 
then?"  "Nothing  happens;  the  death-rate  goes  up  a 
little.  That's  all!"  Even  in  February,  the  weather 
would,  up-country,  be  called  muggy  and  stifling,  but 
Calcutta  is  convinced  that  it  is  her  cold  season.  The 
noises  of  the  city  grow  perceptibly;  it  is  the  night  side 
of  Calcutta  waking  up  and  going  abroad.  Jack  in  the 
sailors'  coffee-shop  is  singing  joyously :  "  Shall  we  gather 
at  the  River —  the  beautiful,  the  beautiful,  the  Kiver?" 
There  is  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the  courtyard  below. 
Some  of  the  Mounted  Police  have  come  in  from  some- 
where or  other  out  of  the  great  darkness.  A  clog-dance 
of  iron  hoofs  follows,  and  an  Englishman's  voice  is 
heard  soothing  an  agitated  horse  who  seems  to  be  stand- 


CITY  OF   DREADFUL  NIGHT          219 

ing  on  his  hind  legs.  Some  of  the  Mounted  Police  are 
going  out  into  the  great  darkness.  "What's  on?" 
"A  dance  at  Government  House.  The  Reserve  men 
are  being  formed  up  below.  They're  calling  the  roll." 
The  Reserve  men  are  all  English,  and  big  English  at 
that.  They  form  up  and  tramp  out  of  the  courtyard  to 
line  Government  Place,  and  see  that  Mrs.  Lollipop's 
brougham  does  not  get  smashed  up  by  Sirdar  Chucker- 
butty  Bahadur's  lumbering  C-spring  barouche  with  the 
two  raw  Walers.  Very  military  men  are  the  Calcutta 
European  Police  in  their  set-up,  and  he  who  knows  their 
composition  knows  some  startling  stories  of  gentleman- 
rankers  and  the  like.  They  are,  despite  the  wearing  cli- 
mate they  work  in  and  the  wearing  work  they  do,  as  fine 
a  five-score  of  Englishmen  as  you  shall  find  east  of  Suez. 
Listen  for  a  moment  from  the  fire  look-out  to  the 
voices  of  the  night,  and  you  will  see  why  they  must  be 
so.  Two  thousand  sailors  of  fifty  nationalities  are  adrift 
in  Calcutta  every  Sunday,  and  of  these  perhaps  two  hun- 
dred are  distinctly  the  worse  for  liquor.  There  is  a  mild 
row  going  on,  even  now,  somewhere  at  the  back  of  Bow 
Bazar,  which  at  nightfall  fills  with  sailormen  who  have 
a  wonderful  gift  of  falling  foul  of  the  native  population. 
To  keep  the  Queen's  peace  is  of  course  only  a  small  por- 
tion of  Police  duty,  but  it  is  trying.  The  burly  presi- 
dent of  the  lock-up  for  European  drunks  —  Calcutta 
central  lock-up  is  worth  seeing  —  rejoices  in  a  sprained 
thumb  just  now,  and  has  to  do  his  work  left-handed  in 
consequence.  But  his  left  hand  is  a  marvellously  per- 
suasive one,  and  when  on  duty  his  sleeves  are  turned  up 
to  the  shoulder  that  the  jovial  mariner  may  see  that 
there  is  no  deception.  The  president's  labours  are 


220  FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

handicapped  in  that  the  road  of  sin  to  the  lock-up  runs 
through  a  grimy  little  garden  —  the  brick  paths  are  worn 
deep  with  the  tread  of  many  drunken  feet  —  where  a 
man  can  give  a  great  deal  of  trouble  by  sticking  his  toes 
into  the  ground  and  getting  mixed  up  with  the  shrubs. 
A  straight  run-in  would  be  much  more  convenient 
both  for  the  president  and  the  drunk.  Generally  speak- 
ing—  and  here  Police  experience  is  pretty  much  the 
same  all  over  the  civilised  world  —  a  woman-drunk  is 
a  good  deal  worse  than  a  man-drunk.  She  scratches 
and  bites  like  a  Chinaman  and  swears  like  several  fiends. 
Strange  people  may  be  unearthed  in  the  lock-ups.  Here 
is  a  perfectly  true  story,  not  three  weeks  old.  A  visitor, 
an  unofficial  one,  wandered  into  the  native  side  of  the 
spacious  accommodation  provided  for  those  who  have 
gone  or  done  wrong.  A  wild-eyed  Babu  rose  from  the 
fixed  charpoy  and  said  in  the  best  of  English,  "Good 
morning,  sir."  "  Good  morning.  Who  are  you,  and 
what  are  you  in  for?"  Then  the  Babu,  in  one  breath: 
"  I  would  have  you  know  that  I  do  not  go  to  prison  as  a 
criminal  but  as  a  reformer.  You've  read  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield?"  "Ye-es."  "Well,  7am  the  Vicar  of  Ben- 
gal—  at  least  that's  what  I  call  myself."  The  visitor 
collapsed.  He  had  not  nerve  enough  to  continue  the 
conversation.  Then  said  the  voice  of  the  authority: 
"He's  down  in  connection  with  a  cheating  case  at 
Serampore.  May  be  shamming  insane,  but  he'll  be 
looked  to  in  time." 

The  best  place  to  hear  about  the  Police  is  the  fire  look- 
out. From  that  eyrie  one  can  see  how  difficult  must  be 
the  work  of  control  over  the  great,  growling  beast  of  a 
city.  By  all  means  let  us  abuse  the  Police,  but  let  us 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT          221 

see  what  the  poor  wretches  have  to  do  with  their  three 
thousand  natives  and  one  hundred  Englishmen.  From 
Howrah  and  Bally  and  the  other  suburbs  at  least  a  hun- 
dred thousand  people  come  in  to  Calcutta  for  the  day 
and  leave  at  night.  Then,  too,  Chandernagore  is  handy 
for  the  fugitive  law-breaker,  who  can  enter  in  the  even- 
ing and  get  away  before  the  noon  of  the  next  day, 
having  marked  his  house  and  broken  into  it. 

aBut  how  can  the  prevalent  offence  be  house-breaking 
in  a  place  like  this?"  "Easily  enough.  When  you've 
seen  a  little  of  the  city  you'll  see.  Natives  sleep  and 
lie  about  all  over  the  place,  and  whole  quarters  are  just 
so  many  rabbit-warrens.  Wait  till  you  see  the  Machua 
Bazar.  Well,  besides  the  petty  theft  and  burglary,  we 
have  heavy  cases  of  forgery  and  fraud,  that  leave  us 
with  our  wits  pitted  against  a  Bengali's.  When  a  Ben- 
gali criminal  is  working  a  fraud  of  the  sort  he  loves,  he  is 
about  the  cleverest  soul  you  could  wish  for.  He  gives  us 
cases  a  year  long  to  unravel.  Then  there  are  the  mur- 
ders in  the  low  houses  —  very  curious  things  they  are. 
You'll  see  the  house  where  Sheikh  Babu  was  murdered 
presently,  and  you'll  understand.  The  Burra  Bazar  and 
Jora  Bagan  sections  are  the  two  worst  ones  for  heavy 
cases;  but  Colootollah  is  the  most  aggravating.  There's 
Colootollah  over  yonder  —  that  patch  of  darkness  beyond 
the  lights.  That  section  is  full  of  tuppenny-ha'penny 
petty  cases,  that  keep  the  men  up  all  night  and  make 
'em  swear.  You'll  see  Colootollah,  and  then  perhaps 
you'll  understand.  Bamun  Bustee  is  the  quietest  of  all, 
and  Lai  Bazar  and  Bow  Bazar,  as  you  can  see  for  your- 
self, are  the  rowdiest.  You've  no  notion  what  the 
natives  come  to  the  police  station  for.  A  man  will  conie 


222  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

in  and  want  a  summons  against  his  master  for  refusing 
him  half-an-hour's  leave.  I  suppose  it  does  seem  rather 
revolutionary  to  an  up-country  man,  but  they  try  to  do 
it  here.  Now  wait  a  minute,  before  we  go  down  into 
the  city  and  see  the  Fire  Brigade  turned  out.  Business 
is  slack  with  them  just  now,  but  you  time  'em  and 
see."  An  order  is  given,  and  a  bell  strikes  softly  thrice. 
There  is  a  rush  of  men,  the  click  of  a  bolt,  a  red  fire- 
engine,  spitting  and  swearing  with  the  sparks  flying 
from  the  furnace,  is  dragged  out  of  its  shelter.  A  huge 
brake,  which  holds  supplementary  horses,  men,  and 
hatchets,  follows,  and  a  hose-cart  is  the  third  on  the 
list.  The  men  push  the  heavy  things  about  as  though 
they  were  pith  toys.  The  men  clamber  up,  some  one 
says  softly,  "All  ready  there,"  and  with  an  angry 
whistle  the  fire-engine,  followed  by  the  other  two, 
flies  out  into  Lai  Bazar.  Time  —  1  min.  40  sees. 
"They'll  find  out  it's  a  false  alarm,  and  come  back 
again  in  five  minutes."  "Why?"  "Because  there  will 
be  no  constables  on  the  road  to  give  'em  the  direc- 
tion of  the  fire,  and  because  the  driver  wasn't  told  the 
ward  of  the  outbreak  when  he  went  out ! "  "  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  can  from  this  absurd  pigeon-loft 
locate  the  wards  in  the  night-time?"  "What  would  be 
the  good  of  a  look-out  if  the  man  couldn't  tell  where 
the  fire  was?"  "But  it's  all  pitchy  black,  and  the 
lights  are  so  confusing." 

"You'll  be  more  confused  in  ten  minutes.  You'll 
have  lost  your  way  as  you  never  lost  it  before.  You're 
going  to  go  round  Bow  Bazar  section." 

"  And  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul !  "  Calcutta, 
the  darker  portion  of  it,  does  not  look  an  inviting  place 
to  dive  into  at  night. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT. 

"  And  since  they  cannot  spend  or  use  aright 
The  little  time  here  given  them  in  trust, 
But  lavish  it  in  weary  undelight 

Of  foolish  toil,  and  trouble,  strife  and  lust  — 
They  naturally  clamour  to  inherit 
The  Everlasting  Future  —  that  their  merit 
May  have  full  scope.  .  .  .    As  surely  is  most  just." 
—  The  City  of  Dreadful  Night. 

THE  difficulty  is  to  prevent  this  account  from  growing 
steadily  unwholesome.  But  one  cannot  rake  through  a 
big  city  without  encountering  muck. 

The  Police  kept  their  word.  In  five  short  minutes, 
as  they  had  prophesied,  their  charge  was  lost  as  he  had 
never  been  lost  before.  "  Where  are  we  now?  "  "  Some- 
where off  the  Chitpore  Road,  but  you  wouldn't  under- 
stand if  you  were  told.  Follow  now,  and  step  pretty 
much  where  we  step  —  there's  a  good  deal  of  filth  here- 
abouts." 

The  thick,  greasy  night  shuts  in  everything.  We 
have  gone  beyond  the  ancestral  houses  of  the  Ghoses  of 
the  Boses,  beyond  the  lamps,  the  smells,  and  the  crowd 
of  Chitpore  Road,  and  have  come  to  a  great  wilderness 
of  packed  houses  —  just  such  mysterious,  conspiring 
tenements  as  Dickens  would  have  loved.  There  is  no 
breeze  here,  and  the  air  is  perceptibly  warmer.  If  Cal- 

223 


224  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

cutta  keeps  such  luxuries  as  Commissioners  of  Sewers 
and  Paving,  they  die  before  they  reach  this  place.  The 
air  is  heavy  with  a  faint,  sour  stench  —  the  essence  of 
long-neglected  abominations — and  it  cannot  escape  from 
among  the  tall,  three-storied  houses.  "This,  my  dear 
Sir,  is  a  perfectly  respectable  quarter  as  quarters  go.  That 
house  at  the  head  of  the  alley,  with  the  elaborate  stucco- 
work  round  the  top  of  the  door,  was  built  long  ago  by  a 
celebrated  midwife.  Great  people  used  to  live  here  once. 
Now  it's  the  —  Aha!  Look  out  for  that  carriage."  A 
big  mail-phaeton  crashes  out  of  the  darkness  and,  reck- 
lessly driven,  disappears.  The  wonder  is  how  it  ever 
got  into  this  maze  of  narrow  streets,  where  nobody  seems 
to  be  moving,  and  where  the  dull  throbbing  of  the  city's 
life  only  comes  faintly  and  by  snatches.  "  Now  it's  the 
what?"  "  The  St.  John's  Wood  of  Calcutta— for  the  rich 
Babus.  That  'fitton '  belonged  to  one  of  them."  "  Well, 
it's  not  much  of  a  place  to  look  at!  "  "Don't  judge  by 
appearances.  About  here  live  the  women  who  have 
beggared  kings.  We  aren't  going  to  let  you  down  into 
unadulterated  vice  all  at  once.  You  must  see  it  first 
with  the  gilding  on  —  and  mind  that  rotten  board." 

Stand  at  the  bottom  of  a  lift  shaft  and  look  upwards. 
Then  you  will  get  both  the  size  and  the  design  of  the  tiny 
courtyard  round  which  one  of  these  big  dark  houses  is 
built.  The  central  square  may  be  perhaps  ten  feet  every 
way,  but  the  balconies  that  run  inside  it  overhang,  and 
seem  to  cut  away  half  the  available  space.  To  reach 
the  square  a  man  must  go  round  many  corners,  down  a 
covered-in  way,  and  up  and  down  two  or  three  baffling 
and  confused  steps.  "Now  you  will  understand,"  say 
the  Police,  kindly,  as  their  charge  blunders,  shin-first 


CITY   OF   DREADFUL   NIGHT          225 

into  a  well-dark  winding  staircase,  "that  these  are  not 
the  sort  of  places  to  visit  alone."  "Who  wants  to?  Of 
all  the  disgusting,  inaccessible  dens  —  Holy  Cupid, 
what's  this?" 

A  glare  of  light  on  the  stair-head,  a  clink  of  innumer- 
able bangles,  a  rustle  of  much  fine  gauze,  and  the  Dainty 
Iniquity  stands  revealed,  blazing  —  literally  blazing  — 
with  jewellery  from  head  to  foot.  Take  one  of  the  fair- 
est miniatures  that  the  Delhi  painters  draw,  and  multiply 
it  by  ten;  throw  in  one  of  Angelica  Kaufmann's  best 
portraits,  and  add  anything  that  you  can  think  of  from 
Beckford  to  Lalla  Kookh,  and  you  will  still  fall  short  of 
the  merits  of  that  perfect  face!  For  an  instant,  even 
the  grim,  professional  gravity  of  the  Police  is  relaxed 
in  the  presence  of  the  Dainty  Iniquity  with  the  gems, 
who  so  prettily  invites  every  one  to  be  seated,  and  proffers 
such  refreshments  as  she  conceives  the  palates  of  the 
barbarians  would  prefer.  Her  maids  are  only  one 
degree  less  gorgeous  than  she.  Half  a  lakh,  or  fifty 
thousand  pounds'  worth  —  it  is  easier  to  credit  the  latter 
statement  than  the  former  —  are  disposed  upon  her  little 
body.  Each  hand  carries  five  jewelled  rings  which  are 
connected  by  golden  chains  to  a  great  jewelled  boss  of 
gold  in  the  centre  of  the  back  of  the  hand.  Ear-rings 
weighted  with  emeralds  and  pearls,  diamond  nose-rings, 
and  how  many  other  hundred  articles  make  up  the  list 
of  adornments.  English  furniture  of  a  gorgeous  and 
gimcrack  kind,  unlimited  chandeliers,  and  a  collection 
of  atrocious  Continental  prints  are  scattered  about  the 
house,  and  on  every  landing  squats  or  loafs  a  Bengali 
who  can  talk  English  with  unholy  fluency.  The  re- 
currence suggests  —  only  suggests,  mind  —  a  grim  pos- 

VOL.  II  — Q 


226  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

sibility  of  the  affectation  of  excessive  virtue  by  day,, 
tempered  with  the  sort  of  unwholesome  enjoyment  after 
dusk  —  this  loafing  and  lobbying  and  chattering  and 
smoking,  and  unless  the  bottles  lie,  tippling,  among  the 
foul-tongued  handmaidens  of  the  Dainty  Iniquity.  How 
many  men  follow  this  double,  deleterious  sort  of  life? 
The  Police  are  discreetly  dumb. 

"Now  don't  go  talking  about  'domiciliary  visits '  just 
because  this  one  happens  to  be  a  pretty  woman.  We've 
got  to  know  these  creatures.  They  make  the  rich  man 
and  the  poor  spend  their  money;  and  when  a  man  can't 
get  money  for  'em  honestly,  he  conies  under  our  notice. 
Now  do  you  see?  If  there  was  any  domiciliary  'visit' 
about  it,  the  whole  houseful  would  be  hidden  past  our 
finding  as  soon  as  we  turned  up  in  the  courtyard.  We're 
friends  —  to  a  certain  extent."  And,  indeed,  it  seemed 
no  difficult  thing  to  be  friends  to  any  extent  with  the 
Dainty  Iniquity  who  was  so  surpassingly  different  from 
all  that  experience  taught  of  the  beauty  of  the  East. 
Here  was  the  face  from  which  a  man  could  write  Lalla 
RooJchs  by  the  dozen,  and  believe  every  work  that  he 
wrote.  Hers  was  the  beauty  that  Byron  sang  of  when 
he  wrote  — 

"  Remember,  if  you  come  here  alone,  the  chances  are 
that  you'll  be  clubbed,  or  stuck,  or,  anyhow,  mobbed. 
You'll  understand  that  this  part  of  the  world  is  shut  to 
Europeans  —  absolutely.  Mind  the  steps,  and  follow 
on."  The  vision  dies  out  in  the  smells  and  gross  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  in  evil,  time-rotten  brickwork,  and 
another  wilderness  of  shut-up  houses. 

Follows,  after  another  plunge  into  a  passage  of  a 
courtyard,  and  up  a  staircase,  the  apparition  of  a  Fat 


CITY  OF   DKEADFUL  NIGHT          227 

Vice,  in  whom  is  no  sort  of  romance,  nor  beauty,  but 
unlimited  coarse  humour.  She  too  is  studded  with 
jewels,  and  her  house  is  even  finer  than  the  house  of 
the  other,  and  more  infested  with  the  extraordinary 
men  who  speak  such  good  English  and  are  so  deferen- 
tial to  the  Police.  The  Fat  Vice  has  been  a  great  leader 
of  fashion  in  her  day,  and  stripped  a  zemindar  Raja  to 
his  last  acre  —  insomuch  that  he  ended  in  the  House  of 
Correction  for  a  theft  committed  for  her  sake.  Xative 
opinion  has  it  that  she  is  a  "monstrous  well-preserved 
woman."  On  this  point,  as  on  some  others,  the  races 
will  agree  to  differ. 

The  scene  changes  suddenly  as  a  slide  in  a  magic 
lantern.  Dainty  Iniquity  and  Fat  Vice  slide  away  on 
a  roll  of  streets  and  alleys,  each  more  squalid  than  its 
predecessor.  We  are  "somewhere  at  the  back  of  the 
Machua  Bazar,"  well  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  There  are 
no  houses  here  —  nothing  but  acres  and  acres,  it  seems, 
of  foul  wattle-and-dab  huts,  any  one  of  which  would  be 
a  disgrace  to  a  frontier  village.  The  whole  arrangement 
is  a  neatly  contrived  germ  and  fire  trap,  reflecting  great 
credit  upon  the  Calcutta  Municipality. 

"What  happens  when  these  pigsties  catch  fire?" 
"They're  built  up  again,"  say  the  Police,  as  though 
this  were  the  natural  order  of  things.  "Land  is  im- 
mensely valuable  here."  All  the  more  reason,  then,  to 
turn  several  Hausmanns  loose  into  the  city,  with  in- 
structions to  make  barracks  for  the  population  that 
cannot  find  room  in  the  huts  and  sleeps  in  the  open 
ways,  cherishing  dogs  and  worse,  much  worse,  in  its 
unwashen  bosom.  "Here  is  a  licensed  coffee-shop. 
This  is  where  your  servants  go  for  amusement  and 


228  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

to  see  nautches."  There  is  a  huge  thatch  shed,  in- 
geniously ornamented  with  insecure  kerosene  lamps, 
and  crammed  with  drivers,  cooks,  small  store-keepers 
and  the  like.  Never  a  sign  of  a  European.  Why? 
"Because  if  an  Englishman  messed  about  here,  he'd 
get  into  trouble.  Men  don't  come  here  unless  they're 
drunk  or  have  lost  their  way."  The  hack-drivers 
—  they  have  the  privilege  of  voting,  have  they  not?  — 
look  peaceful  enough  as  they  squat  on  tables  or  crowd 
by  the  doors  to  watch  the  nautch  that  is  going  forward. 
Five  pitiful  draggle-tails  are  huddled  together  on  a 
bench  under  one  of  the  lamps,  while  the  sixth  is  squirm- 
ing and  shrieking  before  the  impassive  crowd.  She 
sings  of  love  as  understood  by  the  Oriental  —  the  love 
that  dries  the  heart  and  consumes  the  liver.  In  this 
place,  the  words  that  would  look  so  well  on  paper 
have  an  evil  and  ghastly  significance.  The  men  stare 
or  sup  tumblers  and  cups  of  a  filthy  decoction,  and  the 
kunchenee  howls  with  renewed  vigour  in  the  presence  of 
the  Police.  Where  the  Dainty  Iniquity  was  hung  with 
gold  and  gems,  she  is  trapped  with  pewter  and  glass; 
and  where  there  was  heavy  embroidery  on  the  Fat  Vice's 
dress,  defaced,  stamped  tinsel  faithfully  reduplicates  the 
pattern  on  the  tawdry  robes  of  the  kunchenee. 

Two  or  three  men  with  uneasy  consciences  have 
quietly  slipped  out  of  the  coffee-shop  into  the  mazes 
of  the  huts.  The  Police  laugh,  and  those  nearest 
in  the  crowd  laugh  applausively,  as  in  duty  bound. 
Perhaps  the  rabbits  grin  uneasily  when  the  ferret  lands 
at  the  bottom  of  the  burrow  and  begins  to  clear  the 
warren. 

"  The  c/kmdoo-shops  shut  up  at  six,  so  you'll  have  to 


CITY  OF   DREADFUL  NIGHT          229 

see  opium-smoking  before  dark  some  day.  No,  you 
won't,  though."  The  detective  makes  for  a  half -opened 
door  of  a  hut  whence  floats  the  fragrance  of  the  Black 
Smoke.  Those  of  the  inhabitants  who  are  able  promptly 
clear  out  —  they  have  no  love  for  the  Police — .and  there 
remain  only  four  men  lying  down  and  one  standing  up. 
This  latter  has  a  pet  mongoose  coiled  round  his  neck. 
He  speaks  English  fluently.  Yes,  he  has  no  fear.  It 
was  a  private  smoking  party  and —  "No  business  to- 
night—  show  how  you  smoke  opium."  "Aha!  You 
want  to  see.  Very  good,  I  show.  Hiya !  you "  —  he 
kicks  a  man  on  the  floor  —  "show  how  opium-smoke." 
The  kickee  grunts  lazily  and  turns  on  his  elbow.  The 
mongoose,  always  keeping  to  the  man's  neck,  erects 
every  hair  of  its  body  like  an  angry  cat,  and  chatters 
in  its  owner's  ear.  The  lamp  for  the  opium-pipe  is  the 
only  one  in  the  room,  and  lights  a  scene  as  wild  as  any- 
thing in  the  witches'  revel;  the  mongoose  acting  as  the 
familiar  spirit.  A  voice  from  the  ground  says,  in  tones 
of  infinite  weariness :  "  You  take  afitn,  so  "  —  a  long, 
long  pause,  and  another  kick  from  the  man  possessed 
of  the  devil  —  the  mongoose.  "You  take  ctfim?"  He 
takes  a  pellet  of  the  black,  treacly  stuff  on  the  end  of 
a  knitting-needle.  "And  light  qfim."  He  plunges  the 
pellet  into  the  night-light,  where  it  swells  and  fumes 
greasily.  "And  then  you  put  it  in  your  pipe."  The 
smoking  pellet  is  jammed  into  the  tiny  bowl  of  the 
thick,  bamboo-stemmed  pipe,  and  all  speech  ceases,  ex- 
cept the  unearthly  clutter  of  the  mongoose.  The  man  on 
the  groiind  is  sucking  at  his  pipe,  and  when  the  smoking 
pellet  has  ceased  to  smoke  will  be  halfway  to  Nibban. 
"Now  you  go,"  says  the  man  with  the  mongoose.  "I 


230  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

am  going  smoke."  The  hut  door  closes  upon  a  red-lit 
view  of  huddled  legs  and  bodies,  and  the  man  with  the 
mongoose  sinking,  sinking  on  to  his  knees,  his  head 
bowed  forward,  and  the  little  hairy  devil  chattering  on 
the  nape  of  his  neck. 

After  this  the  fetid  night  air  seems  almost  cool,  for 
the  hut  is  as  hot  as  a  furnace.  "Now  for  Colootollah. 
Come  through  the  huts.  There  is  no  decoration  about 
this  vice." 

The  huts  now  gave  place  to  houses  very  tall  and 
spacious  and  very  dark.  But  for  the  narrowness  of  the 
streets  we  might  have  stumbled  upon  Chowringhi  in  the 
dark.  An  hour  and  a  half  has  passed,  and  up  to  this 
time  we  have  not  crossed  our  trail  once.  "  You  might 
knock  about  the  city  for  a  night  and  never  cross  the  same 
line.  Recollect  Calcutta  isn't  one  of  your  poky  up- 
country  cities  of  a  lakh  and  a  half  of  people."  "How 
long  does  it  take  to  know  it  then?  "  "  About  a  lifetime, 
and  even  then  some  of  the  streets  puzzle  you."  "How 
much  has  the  head  of  a  ward  to  know?"  "Every  house 
in  his  ward  if  he  can,  who  owns  it,  what  sort  of  charac- 
ter the  inhabitants  are,  who  are  their  friends,  who  go 
out  and  in,  who  loaf  about  the  place  at  night,  and  so  on 
and  so  on."  "And  he  knows  all  this  by  night  as  well 
as  by  day?"  "Of  course.  Why  shouldn't  he?"  "No 
reason  in  the  world.  Only  it's  pitchy  black  just  now, 
and  I'd  like  to  see  where  this  alley  is  going  to  end." 
"Round  the  corner  beyond  that  dead  wall.  There's  a 
lamp  there.  Then  you'll  be  able  to  see."  A  shadow 
flits  out  of  a  gulley  and  disappears.  "Who's  that?" 
"Sergeant  of  Police  just  to  see  where  we're  going  in 
case  of  accidents."  Another  shadow  staggers  into  the 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT          231 

darkness.  "Who's  that?"  "Soldier  from  the  Fort  or 
a  sailor  from  the  ships.  I  couldn't  quite  see."  The 
Police  open  a  shut  door  in  a  high  wall,  and  stumble 
unceremoniously  among  a  gang  of  women  cooking  their 
food.  The  floor  is  of  beaten  earth,  the  steps  that  lead 
into  the  upper  stories  are  unspeakably  grimy,  and  the 
heat  is  the  heat  of  April.  The  women  rise  hastily, 
and  the  light  of  the  bull's  eye  —  for  the  Police  have 
now  lighted  a  lantern  in  regular  London  fashion 

—  shows    six    bleared   faces  —  one   a   half-native   half- 
Chinese  one,  and  the  others  Bengali.     "There  are  no 
men  here!"  they  cry.     "The  house  is  empty."     Then 
they  grin  and  jabber  and  chew  pan  and  spit,  and  hurry 
up  the  steps  into  the  darkness.     A  range  of  three  big 
rooms  has  been  knocked  into  one  here,  and  there  is  some 
sort   of  arrangement   of   mats.     But  an  average  coun- 
try-bred  is    more    sumptuously    accommodated    in    an 
Englishman's   stable.      A   horse    would    snort    at    the 
accommodation. 

"  Nice  sort  of  place,  isn't  it?  "  say  the  Police,  genially. 
"This  is  where  the  sailors  get  robbed  and  drunk." 
"They  must  be  blind  drunk  before  they  come."  "Na 

—  na!     Na  sailor  men  ee  —  yah!"    chorus  the  women, 
catching  at  the  one  word  they  understand.    "  Arl  gone ! " 
The  Police  take  no  notice,  but  tramp  down  the  big  room 
with  the  mat  loose-boxes.     A  woman  is  shivering  in 
one  of  these.     "What's  the  matter?"     "Fever.     Seek. 
Vary,  vary  seek."     She  huddles  herself  into  a  heap  on 
the  charpoy  and  groans. 

A  tiny,  pitch-black  closet  opens  out  of  the  long  room, 
and  into  this  the  Police  plunge.  "  Hullo !  What's  here?  " 
Down  flashes  the  lantern,  and  a  white  hand  with  black 


232  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

nails  comes  out  of  the  gloom.  Somebody  is  asleep  or 
drank  in  the  cot.  The  ring  of  lantern  light  travels 
slowly  up  and  down  the  body.  "A  sailor  from  the 
ships.  He'll  be  robbed  before  the  morning  most 
likely."  The  man  is  sleeping  like  a  little  child,  both 
arms  thrown  over  his  head,  and  he  is  not  unhandsome. 
He  is  shoeless,  and  there  are  huge  holes  in  his  stock- 
ings. He  is  a  pure-blooded  white,  and  carries  the  flush 
of  innocent  sleep  on  his  cheeks. 

The  light  is  turned  off,  and  the  Police  depart;  while 
the  woman  in  the  loose-box  shivers,  and  moans  that  she 
is  "seek;  vary,  vary  seek." 


CHAPTER  VII 

DEEPER    AND    DEEPER    STILL. 

"  I  built  myself  a  lordly  pleasure-house, 

Wherein  at  ease  for  aye  to  dwell ; 
I  said  :  — '  O  Soul,  make  merry  and  carouse. 
Dear  Soul  —  for  all  is  well. ' ' ' 

—  The  Palace  of  Art. 

"AND  where  next?  I  don't  like  Colootollah."  The 
Police  and  their  charge  are  standing  in  the  interminable 
waste  of  houses  under  the  starlight.  "To  the  lowest 
sink  of  all,  but  you  wouldn't  know  if  you  were  told." 
They  lead  till  they  come  to  the  last  circle  of  the  Inferno 
—  a  long,  quiet,  winding  road.  "There  you  are;  you 
can  see  for  yourself." 

But  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen.  On  one  side  are 
houses  —  gaunt  and  dark,  naked  and  devoid  of  furniture ; 
on  the  other,  low,  mean  stalls,  lighted,  and  with  shame- 
lessly open  doors,  where  women  stand  and  mutter 
and  whisper  one  to  another.  There  is  a  hush  here, 
or  at  least  the  busy  silence  of  an  officer  of  counting- 
house  in  working  hours.  One  look  down  the  street  is 
sufficient.  Lead  on,  gentlemen  of  the  Calcutta  Police. 
We  do  not  love  the  lines  of  open  doors,  the  flaring 
lamps  within,  the  glimpses  of  the  tawdry  toilet-tables 
adorned  with  little  plaster  dogs,  glass  balls  from  Christ- 
mas-trees, and — for  religion  must  not  be  despised  though 

233 


234  FROM   SEA  TO  SEA 

women  be  fallen  —  pictures  of  the  saints  and  statuettes 
of  the  Virgin.  The  street  is  a  long  one,  and  other 
streets,  full  of  the  same  pitiful  wares,  branch  off  from 
it. 

"Why  are  they  so  quiet?  "Why  don't  they  make  a 
row  and  sing  and  shout,  and  so  on?"  "Why  should 
they,  poor  devils?"  say  the  Police,  and  fall  to  telling 
tales  of  horror,  of  women  decoyed  and  shot  into  this 
trap.  Then  other  tales  that  shatter  one's  belief  in  all 
things  and  folk  of  good  repute.  "How  can  you  Police 
have  faith  in  humanity?" 

"  That's  because  you're  seeing  it  all  in  a  lump  for  the 
first  time,  and  it's  not  nice  that  way.  Makes  a  man 
jump  rather,  doesn't  it?  But,  recollect,  you've  asked 
for  the  worst  places,  and  you  can't  complain."  "Who's 
complaining?  Bring  on  your  atrocities.  Isn't  that  a 

European  woman  at  that  door?"  "Yes.  Mrs.  D , 

widow  of  a  soldier,  mother  of  seven  children."  "Nine, 
if  you  please,  and  good  evening  to  you,"  shrills  Mrs. 

D ,  leaning  against  the  door-post,  her  arms  folded 

on  her  bosom.  She  is  a  rather  pretty,  slightly  made 
Eurasian,  and  whatever  shame  she  may  have  owned  she 
has  long  since  cast  behind  her.  A  shapeless  Burmo- 
native  trot,  with  high  cheek-bones  and  mouth  like  a 

shark,  calls  Mrs.  D "Mem-Sahib."  The  word  jars 

unspeakably.  Her  life  is  a  matter  between  herself  and 
her  Maker,  but  in  that  she  —  the  widow  of  a  soldier  of 
the  Queen  —  has  stooped  to  this  common  foulness  in  the 
face  of  the  city,  she  has  offended  against  the  White  race. 
"  You're  from  up-country,  and  of  course  you  don't  under- 
stand. There  are  any  amount  of  that  lot  in  the  city, 
say  the  Police."  Then  the  secret  of  the  insolence 


235 

of  Calcutta  is  made  plain.  Small  wonder  the  natives 
fail  to  respect  the  Sahib,  seeing  what  they  see  and 
knowing  what  they  know.  In  the  good  old  days,  the 
Honourable  the  Directors  deported  him  or  her  who  mis- 
behaved grossly,  and  the  white  man  preserved  his  face. 
He  may  have  been  a  ruffian,  but  he  was  a  ruffian  on  a 
large  scale.  He  did  not  sink  in  the  presence  of  the 
people.  The  natives  are  quite  right  to  take  the  wall  of 
the  Sahib  who  has  been  at  great  pains  to  prove  that  he 
is  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood. 

All  this  time  Mrs.  D stands  on  the  threshold  of 

her  room  and  looks  upon  the  men  with  unabashed  eyes. 

Mrs.  D is  a  lady  with  a  story.  She  is  not  averse  to 

telling  it.  "  What  was  —  ahem  —  the  case  in  which  you 

were  —  er  —  hmn  —  concerned,  Mrs.  D ?"  "They 

said  I'd  poisoned  my  husband  by  putting  something  into 
his  drinking  water."  This  is  interesting.  "And  —  ah 

—  did  you?  "  "  'Twasn't  proved,"  says  Mrs.  D with 

a  laugh,  a  pleasant,  lady-like  laugh  that  does  infinite 
credit  to  her  education  and  upbringing.  Worthy  Mrs. 

D !  It  would  pay  a  novelist  —  a  French  one  let  us 

say  —  to  pick  you  out  of  the  stews  and  make  you  talk. 

The  Police  move  forward,  into  a  region  of  Mrs. 

D 's.  Everywhere  are  the  empty  houses,  and  the 

babbling  women  in  print  gowns.  The  clocks  in  the  city 
are  close  upon  midnight,  but  the  Police  show  no  signs  of 
stopping.  They  plunge  hither  and  thither,  like  wreckers 
into  the  surf;  and  each  plunge  brings  up  a  sample  of 
misery,  filth,  and  woe. 

A  woman  —  Eurasian  —  rises  to  a  sitting  position  on 
a  cot  and  blinks  sleepily  at  the  Police.  Then  she  throws 
herself  down  with  a  grunt.  "What's  the  matter  with 


236  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

you?"  "I  live  in  Markiss  Lane  and"  —  this  with 
intense  gravity  —  "I'm  so  drunk."  She  has  a  rather 
striking  gipsy-like  face,  but  her  language  might  be 
improved. 

"Come  along,"  say  the  Police,  "we'll  head  back  to 
Bentinck  Street,  and  put  you  on  the  road  to  the  Great 
Eastern."  They  walk  long  and  steadily,  and  the  talk 
falls  on  gambling  hells.  "  You  ought  to  see  our  men  rush 
one  of  'em.  When  we've  marked  a  hell  down,  we  post 
men  at  the  entrances  and  carry  it.  Sometimes  the  Chinese 
bite,  but  as  a  rule  they  fight  fair.  It's  a  pity  we  hadn't 
a  hell  to  show  you.  Let's  go  in  here  —  there  may  be 
something  forward."  "Here  "  appears  to  be  in  the  heart 
of  a  Chinese  quarter,  for  the  pigtails  —  do  they  ever  go 
to  bed?  —  are  scuttling  about  the  streets.  "Never  go 
into  a  Chinese  place  alone,"  say  the  Police,  and  swing 
open  a  postern  gate  in  a  strong,  green  door.  Two 
Chinamen  appear. 

"What  are  we  going  to  see?  "  "Japanese  gir —  No, 
we  aren't,  by  Jove !  Catch  that  Chinaman,  quick."  The 
pigtail  is  trying  to  double  back  across  a  courtyard  into 
an  inner  chamber;  but  a  large  hand  on  his  shoulder 
spins  him  round  and  puts  him  in  rear  of  the  line  of 
advancing  Englishmen,  who  are,  be  it  observed,  making 
a  fair  amount  of  noise  with  their  boots.  A  second  door 
is  thrown  open,  and  the  visitors  advance  into  a  large, 
square  room  blazing  with  gas.  Here  thirteen  pigtails, 
deaf  and  blind  to  the  outer  world,  are  bending  over  a 
table.  The  captured  Chinaman  dodges  uneasily  in  the 
rear  of  the  procession.  Five  —  ten  —  fifteen  seconds 
pass,  the  Englishmen  standing  in  the  full  light  less  than 
three  paces  from  the  absorbed  gang  who  see  nothing. 


CITY   OF  DEEADFUL  NIGHT          237 

Then  the  burly  Superintendent  brings  his  hand  down  on 
his  thigh  with  a  crack  like  a  pistol-shot  and  shouts: 
"How  do,  John?"  Follows  a  frantic  rush  of  scared 
Celestials,  almost  tumbling  over  each  other  in  their 
anxiety  to  get  clear.  One  pigtail  scoops  up  a  pile  of 
copper  money,  another  a  chinaware  soup-bowl,  and  only 
a  little  mound  of  accusing  cowries  remains  on  the  white 
matting  that  covers  the  table.  In  less  than  half  a 
minute  two  facts  are  forcibly  brought  home  to  the 
visitor.  First,  that  a  pigtail  is  largely  composed  of 
silk,  and  rasps  the  palm  of  the  hand  as  it  slides  through; 
and  secondly,  that  the  forearm  of  a  Chinaman  is  surpris- 
ingly muscular  and  well-developed.  "What's  going  to 
be  done?"  "Nothing.  There  are  only  three  of  us, 
and  all  the  ringleaders  would  get  away.  We've  got  'em 
safe  any  time  we  want  to  catch  'em,  if  this  little  visit 
doesn't  make  'em  shift  their  quarters.  Hi!  John.  No 
pidgin  to-night.  Show  how  you  makee  play.  That  fat 
youngster  there  is  our  informer." 

Half  the  pigtails  have  fled  into  the  darkness,  but  the 
remainder  assured  and  trebly  assured  that  the  Police 
really  mean  "no  pidgin,"  return  to  the  table  and  stand 
round  while  the  croupier  manipulates  the  cowries,  the 
little  curved  slip  of  bamboo,  and  the  soup-bowl.  They 
never  gamble,  these  innocents.  They  only  come  to  look 
on,  and  smoke  opium  in  the  next  room.  Yet  as  the 
game  progresses  their  eyes  light  up,  and  one  by  one  put 
their  money  on  odd  or  even  —  the  number  of  the  cowries 
that  are  covered  and  left  uncovered  by  the  little  soup- 
bowl.  Mytlian  is  the  name  of  the  amusement,  and, 
whatever  may  be  its  demerits,  it  is  clean.  The  Police 
look  on  while  their  charge  plays  and  loots  a  parchment- 


238  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

skinned  horror  —  one  of  Swift's  Struldburgs,  strayed 
from  Laputa  —  of  the  enormpus  sum  of  two  annas. 
The  return  of  this  wealth,  doubled,  sets  the  loser  beating 
his  forehead  against  the  table  from  sheer  gratitude. 

"Most  immoral  game  this.  A  man  might  drop  five 
whole  rupees,  if  he  began  playing  at  sun-down  and  kept 
it  up  all  night.  Don't  you  ever  play  whist  occasion- 
ally?" 

"  Now,  we  didn't  bring  you  round  to  make  fun  of  this 
department.  A  man  can  lose  as  much  as  ever  he  likes 
and  he  can  fight  as  well,  and  if  he  loses  all  his  money 
he  steals  to  get  more.  A  Chinaman  is  insane  about 
gambling,  and  half  his  crime  comes  from  it.  It  must  be 
kept  down.  Here  we  are  in  Bentinck  Street  and  you 
can  be  driven  to  the  Great  Eastern  in  a  few  minutes. 
Joss  houses?  Oh,  yes.  If  you  want  more  horrors, 
Superintendent  Lamb  will  take  you  round  with  him  to- 
morrow afternoon  at  five.  Good  night." 

The  Police  depart,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  silent 
respectability  of  Old  Council  House  Street,  with  the 
grim  Free  Kirk  at  the  end  of  it,  is  reached.  All  good 
Calcutta  has  gone  to  bed,  the  last  tram  has  passed,  and 
the  peace  of  the  night  is  upon  the  world.  Would  it  be 
wise  and  rational  to  climb  the  spire  of  that  kirk,  and 
shout:  "0  true  believers!  Decency  is  a  fraud  and  a 
sham.  There  is  nothing  clean  or  pure  or  wholesome 
under  the  stars,  and  we  are  all  going  to  perdition 
together.  Amen ! "  On  second  thoughts  it  would  not ; 
for  the  spire  is  slippery,  the  night  is  hot,  and  the  Police 
have  been  specially  careful  to  warn  their  charge  that  he 
must  not  be  carried  away  by  the  sight  of  horrors  that 
cannot  be  written  or  hinted  at. 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT          239 

"Good  morning,"  says  the  Policeman  tramping  the 
pavement  in  front  of  the  Great  Eastern,  and  he  nods  his 
head  pleasantly  to  show  that  he  is  the  representative  of 
Law  and  Peace  and  that  the  city  of  Calcutta  is  safe  from 
itself  for  the  present. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CONCERNING    LUCIA. 

TIME  must  be  filled  in  somehow  till  five  this  afternoon, 
when  Superintendent  Lamb  will  reveal  more  horrors. 
Why  not,  the  trams  aiding,  go  to  the  Old  Park  Street 
Cemetery  ? 

"You  want  go  Park  Street?  No  trams  going  Park 
Street.  You  get  out  here."  Calcutta  tram  conductors 
are  not  polite.  The  car  shuffles  unsympathetically  down 
the  street,  and  the  evicted  is  stranded  in  Dhurrum- 
tollah,  which  may  be  the  Hammersmith  Highway  of 
Calcutta.  Providence  arranged  this  mistake,  and  paved 
the  way  to  a  Great  Discovery  now  published  for  the 
first  time.  Dhurrumtollah  is  full  of  the  People  of 
India,  walking  in  family  parties  and  groups  and  con- 
fidential couples.  And  the  people  of  India  are  neither 
Hindu  nor  Mussulman  —  Jew,  Ethiop,  Gueber,  or  ex- 
patriated British.  They  are  the  Eurasians,  and  there 
are  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  them  in  Dhurrumtollah 
now.  There  is  Papa  with  a  shining  black  hat  fit  for 
a  counsellor  of  the  Queen,  and  Mamma,  whose  silken 
dress  is  tight  upon  her  portly  figure,  and  The  Brood 
made  up  of  straw-hatted,  olive-cheeked,  sharp-eyed  little 
boys,  and  leggy  maidens  wearing  white,  open-work  stock- 
ings calculated  to  show  dust.  There  are  the  young  men 

240 


CITY   OF   DREADFUL   NIGHT  241 

who  smoke  bad  cigars  and  carry  themselves  lordily  — 
such  as  have  incomes.  There  are  also  the  young  women 
with  the  beautiful  eyes  and  the  wonderful  dresses 
which  always  fit  so  badly  across  the  shoulders.  And 
they  carry  prayer-books  or  baskets,  because  they  are 
either  going  to  mass  or  the  market.  Without  doubt, 
these  are  the  People  of  India.  They  were  born  in  it, 
bred  in  it,  and  will  die  in  it.  The  Englishman  only 
comes  to  the  country,  and  the  natives  of  course  were 
there  from  the  first,  but  these  people  have  been  made 
here,  and  no  one  has  done  anything  for  them  except 
talk  and  write  about  them.  Yet  they  belong,  some  of 
them,  to  old  and  honourable  families,  hold  houses  in 
Sealdah,  and  are  rich,  a  few  of  them.  They  all  look 
prosperous  and  contented,  and  they  chatter  eternally  in 
that  curious  dialect  that  no  one  has  yet  reduced  to  print. 
Beyond  what  little  they  please  to  reveal  now  and  again 
in  the  newspapers,  we  know  nothing  about  their  life 
which  touches  so  intimately  the  White  on  the  one  hand 
and  the  Black  on  the  other.  It  must  be  interesting  — 
more  interesting  than  the  colourless  Anglo-Indian  arti- 
cle; but  who  has  treated  of  it?  There  was  one  novel 
once  in  which  the  second  heroine  was  an  Eurasienne. 
She  was  a  strictly  subordinate  character,  and  came  to 
a  sad  end.  The  poet  of  the  race,  Henry  Derozio,  —  he 
of  whom  Mr.  Thomas  Edwards  wrote  a  history,  —  was 
bitten  with  Keats  and  Scott  and  Shelley,  and  over- 
looked in  his  search  for  material  things  that  lay  nearest 
to  him.  All  this  mass  of  humanity  in  Dhurrumtollah 
is  unexploited  and  almost  unknown.  Wanted,  therefore, 
a  writer  from  among  the  Eurasians,  who  shall  write  so 
that  men  shall  be  pleased  to  read  a  story  of  Eurasian 

VOL.   II  —  B 


242  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

life;  then  outsiders  will  be  interested  in  the  People  of 
India,  and  will  admit  that  the  race  has  possibilities. 

A  futile  attempt  to  get  to  Park  Street  from  Dhurrum- 
tollah  ends  in  the  market  —  the  Hogg  Market  men  call 
it.  Perhaps  a  knight  of  that  name  built  it.  It  is  not 
one-half  as  pretty  as  the  Crawford  Market,  in  Bombay, 
but  ...  it  appears  to  be  the  trysting  place  of  Young 
Calcutta.  The  natural  inclination  of  youth  is  to  lie 
abed  late,  and  to  let  the  seniors  do  all  the  hard  work. 
Why,  therefore,  should  Pyramus,  who  has  to  be  ruling 
account  forms  at  ten,  and  Thisbe,  who  cannot  be  inter- 
ested in  the  price  of  second-quality  beef,  wander,  in 
studiously  correct  raiment,  round  and  about  the  stalls 
before  the  sun  is  well  clear  of  the  earth?  Pyramus  car- 
ries a  walking  stick  with  imitation  silver  straps  upon  it, 
and  there  are  cloth  tops  to  his  boots ;  but  his  collar  has 
been  two  days  worn.  Thisbe  crowns  her  dark  head  with 
a  blue  velvet  Tam-o'-Shanter;  but  one  of  her  boots  lacks 
a  button,  and  there  is  a  tear  in  the  left-hand  glove. 
Mamma,  who  despises  gloves,  is  rapidly  filling  a  shallow 
basket,  that  the  coolie-boy  carries,  with  vegetables,  pota- 
toes, purple  brinjals,  and  —  Oh,  Pyramus !  Do  you  ever 
kiss  Thisbe  when  Mamma  is  not  by?  —  garlic  —  yea, 
lusson  of  the  bazaar.  Mamma  is  generous  in  her  views 
on  garlic.  Pyramus  comes  round  the  corner  of  the  stall 
looking  for  nobody  in  particular  —  not  he  —  and  is 
elaborately  polite  to  Mamma.  Somehow,  he  and  Thisbe 
drift  off  together,  and  Mamma,  very  portly  and  very 
voluble,  is  left  to  chaffer  and  sort  and  select  alone.  In 
the  name  of  the  Sacred  Unities  do  not,  young  people, 
retire  to  the  meat-stalls  to  exchange  confidences !  Come 
up  to  this  end,  where  the  roses  are  arriving  in  great  flat 


CITY  OF   DKEADFUL   NIGHT          243 

baskets,  where  the  air  is  heavy  with  the  fragrance  ot 
flowers,  and  the  young  buds  and  greenery  are  littering 
all  the  floor.  They  won't  —  they  prefer  talking  by 
the  dead,  unromantic  muttons,  where  there  are  riot  so 
many  buyers.  There  must  have  been  a  quarrel  to 
make  up.  Thisbe  shakes  the  blue  velvet  Tain-o'-Shanter 
and  says,  "Oah  yess!"  scornfully.  Pyramus  answers: 
"No-a,  no-a.  Do-ant  say  thatt."  Mamma's  basket  is 
full  and  she  picks  up  Thisbe  hastily.  Pyramus  departs. 
He  never  came  here  to  do  any  marketing.  He  came  to 
meet  Thisbe,  who  in  ten  years  will  own  a  figure  very 
much  like  Mamma's.  May  their  ways  be  smooth  before 
them,  and  after  honest  service  of  the  Government,  may 
Pyramus  retire  on  250  rupees  per  mensem,  into  a  nice 
little  house  somewhere  in  Monghyr  or  Chunar! 

From  love  by  natural  sequence  to  death.  Where  is 
the  Park  Street  Cemetery?  A  hundred  hack-drivers 
leap  from  their  boxes  and  invade  the  market,  and  after  a 
short  struggle  one  of  them  uncarts  his  capture  in  a 
burial-ground  —  a  ghastly  new  place,  close  to  a  tram- 
way. This  is  not  what  is  wanted.  The  living  dead  are 
here  —  the  people  whose  names  are  not  yet  altogether 
perished  and  whose  tombstones  are  tended.  "Where  are 
the  old  dead?"  "Nobody  goes  there,"  says  the  driver. 
"It  is  up  that  road."  He  points  up  a  long  and  utterly 
deserted  thoroughfare,  running  between  high  walls.  This 
is  the  place,  and  the  entrance  to  it,  with  its  gardener 
waiting  with  one  brown,  battered  rose  for  the  visitor,  its 
grilled  door  and  its  professional  notices,  bears  a  hideous 
likeness  to  the  entrance  of  Simla  churchyard.  But,  once 
inside,  the  sightseer  stands  in  the  heart  of  utter  desola- 
tion —  all  the  more  forlorn  for  being  swept  up.  Lower 


244  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

Park  Street  cats  a  great  graveyard  in  two.  The  guide- 
books will  tell  you  when  the  place  was  opened  and  when 
it  was  closed.  The  eye  is  ready  to  swear  that  it  is  as 
old  as  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  The  tombs  are  small 
houses.  It  is  as  though  we  walked  down  the  streets  of 
a  town,  so  tall  are  they  and  so  closely  do  they  stand  —  a 
town  shrivelled  by  fire,  and  scarred  by  frost  and  siege. 
Men  must  have  been  afraid  of  their  friends  rising  up 
before  the  due  time  that  they  weighted  them  with  such 
cruel  mounds  of  masonry.  Strong  man,  weak  woman,  or 
somebody's  "infant  son  aged  fifteen  months,"  for  each 
the  squat  obelisk,  the  defaced  classic  temple,  the  cel- 
laret of  chunam,  or  the  candlestick  of  brickwork  —  the 
heavy  slab,  the  rust-eaten  railings,  the  whopper-jawed 
cherubs,  and  the  apoplectic  angels.  Men  were  rich  in 
those  days  and  could  afford  to  put  a  hundred  cubic  feet 
of  masonry  into  the  grave  of  even  so  humble  a  person 
as  "Jno.  Clements,  Captain  of  the  Country  Service, 
1820."  When  the  "dearly  beloved"  had  held  rank 
answering  to  that  of  Commissioner,  the  efforts  are  still 
more  sumptuous  and  the  verse.  .  .  .  Well,  the  follow- 
ing speaks  for  itself :  — 

"  Soft  on  thy  tomb  shall  fond  Remembrance  shed 

The  warm  yet  unavailing  tear, 
And  purple  flowers  that  deck  the  honoured  dead 
Shall  strew  the  loved  and  honoured  bier." 

Failure  to  comply  with  the  contract  does  not,  let  us 
hope,  entail  forfeiture  of  the  earnest-money;  or  the 
honoured  dead  might  be  grieved.  The  slab  is  out  of 
his  tomb,  and  leans  foolishly  against  it;  the  railings  are 
rotted,  and  there  are  no  more  lasting  ornaments  than 


CITY   OF   DREADFUL   NIGHT  245 

blisters  and  stains,  which  are  the  work  of  the  weather, 
and  not  the  result  of  the  "warm  yet  unavailing  tear." 
Let  us  go  about  and  moralise  cheaply  on  the  tomb- 
stones, trailing  the  robe  of  pious  reflection  up  and  down 
the  pathways  of  the  grave.  Here  is  a  big  and  stately 
tomb  sacred  to  "  Lucia,"  who  died  in  1776  A.D.,  aged  23. 
Here  also  be  lichened  verses  which  an  irreverent  thumb 
can  bring  to  light.  Thus  they  wrote,  when  their  hearts 
were  heavy  in  them,  one  hundred  and  sixteen  years 
ago:  — 

"  What  needs  the  emblem,  what  the  plaintive  strain, 

What  all  the  arts  that  sculpture  e'er  expressed, 
To  tell  the  treasure  that  these  walls  contain  ? 
Let  those  declare  it  most  who  knew  her  best. 

"  The  tender  pity  she  would  oft  display 

Shall  be  with  interest  at  her  shrine  returned, 
Connubial  love,  connubial  tears  repay, 
And  Lucia  loved  shall  still  be  Lucia  mourned. 

"Though  closed  the  lips,  though  stopped  the  tuneful  breath, 

The  silent,  clay-cold  monitress  shall  teach  — 
In  all  the  alarming  eloquence  of  death 

With  double  pathos  to  the  heart  shall  preach. 

"  Shall  teach  the  virtuous  maid,  the  faithful  wife, 

If  young  and  fair,  that  young  and  fair  was  she, 
Then  close  the  useful  lesson  of  her  h'fe, 
And  tell  them  what  she  is,  they  soon  must  be." 

That  goes  well,  even  after  all  these  years,  does  it  not? 
and  seems  to  bring  Lucia  very  near,  in  spite  of  what 
the  later  generation  is  pleased  to  call  the  stiltedness  of 
the  old-time  verse. 

Who  will  declare  the  merits  of  Lucia  —  dead  in  her 
spring  before  there  was  even  a  Hickey's  Gazette  to  chron- 


246  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

icle  the  amusements  of  Calcutta,  and  publish,  with  scurri- 
lous asterisks,  the  liaisons  of  heads  of  departments  ?  What 
pot-bellied  East  Indiaman  brought  the  "virtuous  maid" 
up  the  river,  and  did  Lucia  "  make  her  bargain  "  as  the 
cant  of  those  times  went,  on  the  first,  second,  or  third 
day  after  her  arrival?  Or  did  she,  with  the  others  of  the 
batch,  give  a  spinsters'  ball  as  a  last  trial  —  following 
the  custom  of  the  country?  No.  She  was  a  fair  Kent- 
ish maiden,  sent  out,  at  a  cost  of  five  hundred  pounds, 
English  money,  under  the  captain's  charge,  to  wed  the 
man  of  her  choice,  and  he  knew  Clive  well,  had  had 
dealings  with  Omichand,  and  talked  to  men  who  had 
lived  through  the  terrible  night  in  the  Black  Hole.  He 
was  a  rich  man,  Lucia's  battered  tomb  proves  it,  and  he 
gave  Lucia  all  that  her  heart  could  wish:  a  green- 
painted  boat  to  take  the  air  in  on  the  river  of  evenings. 
Coffree  slave-boys  who  could  play  on  the  French  horn, 
and  even  a  very  elegant,  neat  coach  with  a  genteel  rutlan 
roof  ornamented  with  flowers  very  highly  finished,  ten 
best  polished  plate  glasses,  ornamented  with  a  few  ele- 
gant medallions  enriched  with  rnother-o'-pearl,  that  she 
might  take  her  drive  on  the  course  as  befitted  a  factor's 
wife.  All  these  things  he  gave  her.  And  when  the 
convoys  came  up  the  river,  and  the  guns  thundered,  and 
the  servants  of  the  Honourable  the  East  India  Company 
drank  to  the  king's  health,  be  sure  that  Lucia  before  all 
the  other  ladies  in  the  Fort  had  her  choice  of  the  new 
stuffs  from  England  and  was  cordially  hated  in  conse- 
quence. Tilly  Kettle  painted  her  picture  a  little  before 
she  died,  and  the  hot-blooded  young  writers  did  duel 
with  small  swords  in  the  fort  ditch  for  the  honour  of 
piloting  her  through  a  minuet  at  the  Calcutta  theatre  or 


CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT          247 

the  Punch  House.  But  Warren  Hastings  danced  with 
her  instead,  and  the  writers  were  confounded  —  every 
man  of  them.  She  was  a  toast  far  up  the  river.  And 
she  walked  in  the  evening  on  the  bastions  of  Fort- 
William,  and  said,  "La!  I  protest!  "  It  was  there  that 
she  exchanged  congratulations  with  all  her  friends  on 
the  20th  of  October,  when  those  who  were  alive  gathered 
together  to  felicitate  themselves  on  having  come  through 
another  hot  season ;  and  the  men  —  even  the  sober  factor 
saw  no  wrong  here  —  got  most  royally  and  Britishly 
drunk  on  Madeira  that  had  twice  rounded  the  Cape. 
But  Lucia  fell  sick,  and  the  doctor  —  he  who  went  home 
after  seven  years  with  five  lakhs  and  a  half,  and  a  corner 
of  this  vast  graveyard  to  his  account  —  said  that  it 
was  a  pukka  or  putrid  fever,  and  the  system  required 
strengthening.  So  they  fed  Lucia  on  hot  curries,  and 
mulled  wine  worked  up  with  spirits  and  fortified  with 
spices,  for  nearly  a  week ;  at  the  end  of  which  time  she 
closed  her  eyes  on  the  weary  river  and  the  Fort  for 
ever,  and  a  gallant,  with  a  turn  for  belles-lettres,  wept 
openly  as  men  did  then  and  had  no  shame  of  it,  and 
composed  the  verses  above  set,  and  thought  himself  a 
neat  hand  at  the  pen  —  stap  his  vitals !  But  the  factor 
was  so  grieved  that  he  could  write  nothing  at  all  —  could 
only  spend  his  money  —  and  he  counted  his  wealth  by 
lakhs  —  on  a  sumptuous  grave.  A  little  later  on  he  took 
comfort,  and  when  the  next  batch  carne  out  — • 

But  this  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  story  of 
Lucia,  the  virtuous  maid,  the  faithful  wife.  Her  ghost 
went  to  a  big  Calcutta  powder  ball  that  very  night,  and 
looked  very  beautiful.  I  met  her. 


AMONG  THE   RAILWAY   FOLK 

CHAPTER  I 

A   RAILWAY    SETTLEMENT. 

JAMALPUB  is  the  headquarters  of  the  East  India  Bail- 
way.  This  in  itself  is  not  a  startling  statement.  The 
wonder  begins  with  the  exploration  of  Jamalpur,  which 
is  a  station  entirely  made  by,  and  devoted  to,  the  use  of 
those  untiring  servants  of  the  public,  the  railway  folk. 
They  have  towns  of  their  own  at  Toondla  and  Assen- 
sole;  a  sun-dried  sanitarium  at  Bandikui;  and  Howrah, 
Ajmir,  Allahabad,  Lahore,  and  Pindi  know  their  colo- 
nies. But  Jamalpur  is  unadulteratedly  "  Railway,"  and 
he  who  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  E.  I.  Railway  in 
some  shape  or  another  feels  a  stranger  and  an  inter- 
loper. Running  always  east  and  southerly,  the  train 
carries  him  from  the  torments  of  the  northwest  into  the 
wet,  woolly  warmth  of  Bengal,  where  may  be  found  the 
hothouse  heat  that  has  ruined  the  temper  of  the  good 
people  of  Calcutta.  The  land  is  fat  and  greasy  with 
good  living,  and  the  wealth  of  the  bodies  of  innumer- 
able dead  things;  and  here — just  above  Mokameh  — 
may  be  seen  fields  stretching,  without  stick,  stone,  or 
bush  to  break  the  view,  from  the  railway  line  to  the 
horizon. 

Up-country  innocents  must  look  at  the  map  to  learn 
that  Jamalpur  is  near  the  top  left-hand  corner  of  the  big 

249 


250  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

loop  that  the  E.  I.  R.  throws  out  round  Bhagalpur  and 
part  of  the  Bara-Banki  districts.  Northward  of  Jamal- 
pur,  as  near  as  may  be,  lies  the  Ganges  and  Tirhoot,  and 
eastward  an  offshoot  of  the  volcanic  Kajmehal  range 
blocks  the  view. 

A  station  which  has  neither  Judge,  Commissioner, 
Deputy,  or  'Stunt,  which  is  devoid  of  law  courts,  ticca- 
gharies,  District  Superintendents  of  Police,  and  t  any 
other  evidences  of  an  over-cultured  civilisation,  is  a 
curiosity.  "  We  administer  ourselves,"  says  Jamalpur, 
proudly,  "  or  we  did  —  till  we  had  local  self-government 
in  —  and  now  the  racket-marker  administers  us."  This 
is  a  solemn  fact.  The  station,  which  had  its  beginnings 
thirty  odd  years  ago,  used,  till  comparatively  recent 
times,  to  control  its  own  roads,  sewage,  conservancy, 
and  the  like.  But,  with  the  introduction  of  local  self- 
government,  it  was  ordained  that  the  "  inestimable 
boon "  should  be  extended  to  a  place  made  by,  and  main- 
tained for,  Europeans,  and  a  brand-new  municipality 
was  created  and  nominated  according  to  the  many  rules 
of  the  game.  In  the  skirmish  that  ensued,  the  Club 
racket-marker  fought  his  way  to  the  front,  secured  a 
place  on  a  board  largely  composed  of  Babus,  and  since 
that  day  Jamalpur's  views  on  government  have  not 
been  fit  for  publication.  To  understand  the  magnitude 
of  the  insult,  one  must  study  the  city  —  for  station,  in 
the  strict  sense  of  the  word,  it  is  not.  Crotons,  palms, 
mangoes,  mellingtonias,  teak,  and  bamboos  adorn  it,  and 
the  poinsettia  and  bougainvittea,  the  railway  creeper  and 
the  bignonia  venusta,  make  it  gay  with  many  colours.  It 
is  laid  out  with  military  precision  to  each  house  its  just 
share  of  garden,  its  red  brick  path,  its  growth  of  trees, 


AMONG  THE  BAILWAY  FOLK      251 

and  its  neat  little  wicket  gate.  Its  general  aspect,  in 
spite  of  the  Dutch  formality,  is  that  of  an  English 
village,  such  a  thing  as  enterprising  stage-managers  put 
on  the  theatres  at  home.  The  hills  have  thrown  a  pro- 
tecting arm  round  nearly  three  sides  of  it;  and  on  the 
fourth  it  is  bounded  by  what  are  locally  known  as  the 
"  sheds  " ;  in  other  words,  the  station,  offices,  and  work- 
shops of  the  company.  The  E.  I.  E.  only  exists  for  out- 
siders. Its  servants  speak  of  it  reverently,  angrily, 
despitefully,  or  enthusiastically  as  "  The  Company " ; 
and  they  never  omit  the  big,  big  C.  Men  must  have 
treated  the  Honourable  the  East  India  Company  in 
something  the  same  fashion  ages  ago.  "The  Company" 
in  Jamalpur  is  Lord  Dufferin,  all  the  Members  of  Coun- 
cil, the  Body-Guard,  Sir  Frederick  Roberts,  Mr.  West- 
land,  whose  name  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  currency  notes, 
the  Oriental  Life  Assurance  Company,  and  the  Bengal 
Government  all  rolled  into  one.  At  first,  when  a 
stranger  enters  this  life,  he  is  inclined  to  scoff  and  ask, 
in  his  ignorance,  "  What  is  this  Company  that  you  talk 
so  much  about  ?  "  Later  on,  he  ceases  to  scoff ;  for  the 
Company  is  a  "  big "  thing  —  almost  big  enough  to 
satisfy  an  American. 

Ere  beginning  to  describe  its  doings,  let  it  be  written, 
and  repeated  several  times  hereafter,  that  the  E.  I.  E. 
passenger  carriages,  and  especially  the  second-class,  are 
just  now  horrid  —  being  filthy  and  unwashen,  dirty  to 
look  at,  and  dirty  to  live  in.  Having  cast  this  small 
stone,  we  will  examine  Jamalpur.  When  it  was  laid 
out,  in  or  before  the  Mutiny  year,  its  designers  allowed 
room  for  growth,  and  made  the  houses  of  one  general 
design  —  some  of  brick,  some  of  stone,  some  three,  four, 


252  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  six  roomed,  some  single  men's  barracks  and  some 
two-storied  —  all  for  the  use  of  the  employes.  King's 
Road,  Prince's  Road,  Queen's  Road,  and  Victoria  Road 
—  Jamalpur  is  loyal  —  cut  the  breadth  of  the  station; 
and  Albert  Road,  Church  Street,  and  Steam  Road  the 
length  of  it.  Neither  on  these  roads  or  on  any  of  the 
cool-shaded  smaller  ones  is  anything  unclean  or  un- 
sightly to  be  found.  There  is  a  dreary  village  in  the 
neighbourhood  which  is  said  to  make  the  most  of  any 
cholera  that  may  be  going,  but  Jamalpur  itself  is  speck- 
lessly  and  spotlessly  neat.  From  St.  Mary's  Church  to 
the  railway  station,  and  from  the  buildings  where  they 
print  daily  about  half  a  lakh  of  tickets,  to  the  ringing, 
roaring,  rattling  workshops,  everything  has  the  air  of 
having  been  cleaned  up  at  ten  that  very  morning  and  put 
under  a  glass  case.  There  is  a  holy  calm  about  the 
roads  —  totally  unlike  anything  in  an  English  manufac- 
turing town.  Wheeled  conveyances  are  few,  because 
every  man's  bungalow  is  close  to  his  work,  and  when 
the  day  has  begun  and  the  offices  of  the  "Loco."  and 
"Traffic"  have  soaked  up  their  thousands  of  natives 
and  hundreds  of  Europeans,  you  shall  pass  under  the 
dappled  shadows  of  the  trees,  hearing  nothing  louder 
than  the  croon  of  some  bearer  playing  with  a  child  in 
the  verandah  or  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  piano.  This  is 
pleasant,  and  produces  an  impression  of  Watteau-like 
refinement  tempered  with  Arcadian  simplicity.  The 
dry,  anguished  howl  of  the  "buzzer,"  the  big  steam- 
whistle,  breaks  the  hush,  and  all  Jamalpur  is  alive  with 
the  tramping  of  tiffin-seeking  feet.  The  Company  gives 
one  hour  for  meals  between  eleven  and  twelve.  On 
the  stroke  of  noon  there  is  another  rush  back  to  the 


AMONG  THE  EAILWAY   FOLK        253 

works  or  the  offices,  and  Jamalpur  sleeps  through  the 
afternoon  till  four  or  half-past,  and  then  rouses  for 
tennis  at  the  institute. 

In  the  hot  weather  it  splashes  in  the  swimming  bath, 
or  reads,  for  it  has  a  library  of  several  thousand  books. 
One  of  the  most  flourishing  lodges  in  the  Bengal  juris- 
diction —  "  St.  George  in  the  East "  —  lives  at  Jamalpur, 
and  meets  twice  a  month.  Its  members  point  out  with 
justifiable  pride  that  all  the  fittings  Avere  made  by  their 
own  hands ;  and  the  lodge  in  its  accoutrements  and  the 
energy  of  the  craftsmen  can  compare  with  any  in  India. 
But  the  institute  is  the  central  gathering  place,  and 
its  half-dozen  tennis-courts  and  neatly-laid-out  grounds 
seem  to  be  always  full.  Here,  if  a  stranger  could  judge, 
the  greater  part  of  the  flirtation  of  Jamalpur  is  carried 
out,  and  here  the  dashing  apprentice  —  the  apprentices 
are  the  liveliest  of  all  —  learns  that  there  are  prob- 
lems harder  than  any  he  studies  at  the  night  school, 
and  that  the  heart  of  a  maiden  is  more  inscrutable 
than  the  mechanism  of  a  locomotive.  On  Tuesdays  and 
Fridays,  the  volunteers  parade.  A  and  B  Companies, 
150  strong  in  all,  of  the  E.  I.  E.  Volunteers,  are 
stationed  here  with  the  band.  Their  uniform,  grey  with 
red  facings,  is  not  lovely,  but  they  know  how  to  shoot 
and  drill.  They  have  to.  The  "  Company "  makes  it 
a  condition  of  service  that  a  man  must  be  a  volunteer ; 
and  volunteer  in  something  more  than  name  he  must 
be,  or  some  one  will  ask  the  reason  why.  Seeing  that 
there  are  no  regulars  between  Howrah  and  Dinapore, 
the  "Company"  does  well  in  exacting  this  toll.  Some 
of  the  old  soldiers  are  wearied  of  drill,  some  of  the 
youngsters  don't  like  it,  but  —  the  way  they  entrain 


254  FBOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

and  detrain  is  worth  seeing.  They  are  as  mobile  a 
corps  as  can  be  desired,  and  perhaps  ten  or  twelve 
years  hence  the  Government  may  possibly  be  led  to 
take  a  real  interest  in  them  and  spend  a  few  thousand 
rupees  in  providing  them  with  real  soldiers'  kits  —  not 
uniform  and  rifle  merely.  Their  ranks  include  all  sorts 
and  conditions  of  men  —  heads  of  the  "Loco."  and 
"  Traffic,"  the  "  Company "  is  no  respecter  of  rank  — 
clerks  in  the  "audit,"  boys  from  mercantile  firms  at 
home,  fighting  with  the  intricacies  of  time,  fare,  and 
freight  tables;  guards  who  have  grown  grey  in  the 
service  of  the  Company ;  mail  and  passenger  drivers 
with  nerves  of  cast-iron,  who  can  shoot  through  a  long 
afternoon  without  losing  temper  or  flurrying ;  light-blue 
East  Indians ;  Tyne-side  men,  slow  of  speech  and  un- 
commonly strong  in  the  arm;  lathy  apprentices  who 
have  not  yet  "  filled  out " ;  fitters,  turners,  foremen, 
full,  assistant,  and  sub-assistant  station-masters,  and  a 
host  of  others.  In  the  hands  of  the  younger  men  the 
regulation  Martini-Henri  naturally  goes  off  the  line 
occasionally  on  hunting  expeditions. 

There  is  a  twelve-hundred  yards'  range  running  down 
one  side  of  the  station,  and  the '  condition  of  the  grass 
by  the  firing  butts  tells  its  own  tale.  Scattered  in  the 
ranks  of  the  volunteers  are  a  fair  number  of  old  soldiers, 
for  the  Company  has  a  weakness  for  recruiting  from  the 
Army  for  its  guards  who  may,  in  time,  become  station- 
masters.  A  good  man  from  the  Army,  with  his  papers 
all  correct  and  certificates  from  his  commanding  officer, 
can,  after  depositing  twenty  pounds  to  pay  his  home 
passage,  in  the  event  of  his  services  being  dispensed 
with,  enter  the  Company's  service  on  something  less 


AMONG  THE   RAILWAY   FOLK        255 

than  one  hundred  rupees  a  month  and  rise  in  time  to 
four  hundred  as  a  station-master.  A  railway  bungalow 
—  and  they  are  as  substantially  built  as  the  engines  — 
will  cost  him  more  than  one-ninth  of  the  pay  of  his 
grade,  and  the  Provident  Fund  provides  for  his  latter 
end. 

Think  for  a  moment  of  the  number  of  men  that  a 
line  running  from  Howrah  to  Delhi  must  use,  and  you 
will  realise  what  an  enormous  amount  of  patronage  the 
Company  holds  in  its  hands.  Naturally  a  father  who 
has  worked  for  the  line  expects  the  line  to  do  something 
for  the  son ;  and  the  line  is  not  backward  in  meeting  his 
wishes  where  possible.  The  sons  of  old  servants  may 
be  taken  on  at  fifteen  years  of  age,  or  thereabouts,  as 
apprentices  in  the  "shops,"  receiving  twenty  rupees  in 
the  first  and  fifty  in  the  last  year  of  their  indentures. 
Then  they  come  on  the  books  as  full  "  men  "  on  perhaps 
Rs.  65  a  month,  and  the  road  is  open  to  them  in  many 
ways.  They  may  become  foremen  of  departments  on 
Rs.  500  a  month,  or  drivers  earning  with  overtime 
Rs.  370;  or  if  they  have  been  brought  into  the  audit 
or  the  traffic,  they  may  control  innumerable  Babus 
and  draw  several  hundreds  of  rupees  monthly;  or,  at 
eighteen  or  nineteen,  they  may  be  ticket-collectors, 
working  up  to  the  grade  of  guard,  etc.  Every  rank  of 
the  huge,  human  hive  has  a  desire  to  see  its  sons  placed 
properly,  and  the  native  workmen,  about  three  thousand, 
in  the  locomotive  department  only,  are,  said  one  man, 
"making  a  family  affair  of  it  altogether.  You  see  all 
those  men  turning  brass  and  looking  after  the  machin- 
ery ?  They've  all  got  relatives,  and  a  lot  of  'em  own 
land  out  Monghyr-way  close  to  us.  They  bring  on  their 


256  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

sons  as  soon  as  they  are  old  enough  to  do  anything,  and 
the  Company  rather  encourages  it.  You  see  the  father 
is  in  a  way  responsible  for  his  son,  and  he'll  teach  him 
all  he  knows,  and  in  that  way  the  Company  has  a  hold 
on  them  all.  You've  no  notion  how  sharp  a  native  is 
when  he's  working  on  his  own  hook.  All  the  district 
round  here,  right  up  to  Monghyr,  is  more  or  less  de- 
pendent on  the  railway." 

The  Babus  in  the  traffic  department,  in  the  stores, 
issue  department,  in  all  the  departments  where  men 
sit  through  the  long,  long  Indian  day  among  ledgers, 
and  check  and  pencil  and  deal  in  figures  and  items 
and  rupees,  may  be  counted  by  hundreds.  Imagine  the 
struggle  among  them  to  locate  their  sons  in  comfortable 
cane-bottomed  chairs,  in  front  of  a  big  pewter  inkstand 
and  stacks  of  paper!  The  Babus  make  beautiful  ac- 
countants, and  if  we  could  only  see  it,  a  merciful 
Providence  has  made  the  Babu  for  figures  and  detail. 
Without  him,  the  dividends  of  any  company  would  be 
eaten  up  by  the  expenses  of  English  or  city-bred  clerks. 
The  Babu  is  a  great  man,  and,  to  respect  him,  you  must 
see  five  score  or  so  of  him  in  a  room  a  hundred  yards 
long,  bending  over  ledgers,  ledgers,  and  yet  more  ledgers 
—  silent  as  the  Sphinx  and  busy  as  a  bee.  He  is  the 
lubricant  of  the  great  machinery  of  the  Company  whose 
ways  and  works  cannot  be  dealt  with  in  a  single  scrawl. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    SHOPS. 

THE  railway  folk,  like  the  army  and  civilian  castes, 
have  their  own  language  and  life,  which  an  outsider 
cannot  hope  to  understand.  For  instance,  when  Jamal- 
pur  refers  to  itself  as  being  "on  the  long  siding,"  a 
lengthy  explanation  is  necessary  before  the  visitor 
grasps  the  fact  that  the  whole  of  the  two  hundred 
and  thirty  odd  miles  of  the  loop  from  Luckeeserai  to 
Kami- Junction  via  Bhagalpur  is  thus  contemptuously 
treated.  Jamalpur  insists  that  it  is  out  of  the  world, 
and  makes  this  an  excuse  for  being  proud  of  itself  and 
all  its  institutions.  But  in  one  thing  it  is  badly,  dis- 
gracefully provided.  At  a  moderate  estimate  there  must 
be  about  two  hundred  Europeans  with  their  families  in 
this  place.  They  can,  and  do,  get  their  small  supplies 
from  Calcutta,  but  they  are  dependent  on  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  bazaar  for  their  meat,  which  seems  to 
be  hawked  from  door  to  door.  There  is  a  Raja  who 
owns  or  has  an  interest  in  the  land  on  which  the  sta- 
tion stands,  and  he  is  averse  to  cow-killing.  For  these 
reasons,  Jamalpur  is  not  too  well  supplied  with  good 
meat,  and  what  it  wants  is  a  decent  meat-market 
with  cleanly  controlled  slaughtering  arrangements.  The 
"  Company,"  who  gives  grants  to  the  schools  and  builds 
the  institute  and  throws  the  shadow  of  its  protection  all 
over  the  place,  might  help  this  scheme  forward. 
VOL.  ii  —  s  257 


25S  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

The  heart  of  Jamalpur  is  the  "  shops,"  and  here  a 
visitor  will  see  more  things  in  an  hour  than  he  can 
understand  in  a  year.  Steam  Street  very  appropriately 
leads  to  the  forty  or  fifty  acres  that  the  "  shops  "  cover, 
and  to  the  busy  silence  of  the  loco,  superintendent's 
office,  where  a  man  must  put  down  his  name  and  his 
business  on  a  slip  of  paper  before  he  can  penetrate  into 
the  Temple  of  Vulcan.  About  three  thousand  five  hun- 
dred men  are  in  the  "  shops,"  and,  ten  minutes  after  the 
day's  work  has  begun,  the  assistant  superintendent 
knows  exactly  how  many  are  "in."  The  heads  of  de- 
partments—  silent,  heavy-handed  men,  captains  of  five 
hundred  or  more  —  have  their  names  fairly  printed  on  a 
board  which  is  exactly  like  a  pool-marker.  They  "  star 
a  life"  when  they  come  in,  and  their  few  names  alone 
represent  salaries  to  the  extent  of  six  thousand  a  month. 
They  are  men  worth  hearing  deferentially.  They  hail 
from  Manchester  and  the  Clyde,  and  the  great  iron- 
works of  the  North :  pleasant  as  cold  water  in  a 
thirsty  land  is  it  to  hear  again  the  full  Northumbrian 
burr  or  the  long-drawn  Yorkshire  "aye."  Under  their 
great  gravity  of  demeanour  —  a  man  who  is  in  charge  of 
a  few  lakhs'  worth  of  plant  cannot  afford  to  be  riotously 
mirthful  —  lurks  melody  and  humour.  They  can  sing 
like  north-countrymen,  and  in  their  hours  of  ease  go 
back  to  the  speech  of  the  iron  countries  they  have  left 
behind,  when  "  Ab  o'  th'  yate  "  and  all  "  Ben  Briarly's  " 
shrewd  wit  shakes  the  warm  air  of  Bengal  with  deep- 
chested  laughter.  Hear  "  Euglan'  Toon,"  with  a  chorus 
as  true  as  the  fall  of  trip-hammers,  and  fancy  that  you 
are  back  again  in  the  smoky,  rattling,  ringing  North ! 

But    this    is    the    "  unofficial "    side.       Go    forward 


AMONG  THE  RAILWAY  FOLK        259 

through  the  gates  under  the  mango  trees,  and  set  foot 
at  once  in  sheds  which  have  as  little  to  do  with  mangoes 
as  a  locomotive  with  Lakshmi.  The  "  buzzer "  howls, 
for  it  is  nearly  tiffin  time.  There  is  a  rush  from  every 
quarter  of  the  shops,  a  cloud  of  flying  natives,  and  a 
procession  of  more  sedately  pacing  Englishmen,  and  in 
three  short  minutes  you  are  left  absolutely  alone  among 
arrested  wheels  and  belts,  pulleys,  cranks,  and  cranes  — 
in  a  silence  only  broken  by  the  soft  sigh  of  a  far-away 
steam-valve  or  the  cooing  of  pigeons.  You  are,  by  favour 
freely  granted,  at  liberty  to  wander  anywhere  you  please 
through  the  deserted  works.  Walk  into  a  huge,  brick- 
built,  tin-roofed  stable,  capable  of  holding  twenty-four 
locomotives  under  treatment,  and  see  what  must  be  done 
to  the  Iron  Horse  once  in  every  three  years  if  he  is  to 
do  his  work  well.  On  reflection,  Iron  Horse  is  wrong. 
An  engine  is  a  she — as  distinctly  feminine  as  a  ship  or  a 
mine.  Here  stands  the  Echo,  her  wheels  off,  resting  on 
blocks,  her  underside  machinery  taken  out,  and  her  side 
scrawled  with  mysterious  hieroglyphics  in  chalk.  An 
enormous  green-painted  iron  harness-rack  bears  her  pis- 
ton and  eccentric  rods,  and  a  neatly  painted  board  shows 
that  such  and  such  Englishmen  are  the  fitter,  assistant, 
and  apprentice  engaged  in  editing  that  Echo.  An  engine 
seen  from  the  platform  and  an  engine  viewed  from 
underneath  are  two  very  different  things.  The  one  is 
as  unimpressive  as  a  cart;  the  other  as  imposing  as  a 
man-of-war  in  the  yard. 

In  this  manner  is  an  engine  treated  for  navicular, 
laminitis,  back-sinew,  or  whatever  it  is  that  engines  most 
suffer  from.  No.  607,  we  will  say,  goes  wrong  at  Dina- 
pore,  Assensole,  Buxar,  or  wherever  it  may  be,  after 


260  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

three  years'  work.  The  place  she  came  from  is  sten- 
cilled on  the  boiler,  and  the  foreman  examines  her. 
Then  he  fills  in  a  hospital  sheet,  which  bears  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  printed  heads  under  which  an  engine 
can  come  into  the  shops.  No.  607  needs  repair  in  only 
one  hundred  and  eighteen  particulars,  ranging  from 
mud-hole-flanges  and  blower-cocks  to  lead-plugs,  and 
platform  brackets  which  have  shaken  loose.  This  cer- 
tificate the  foreman  signs,  and  it  is  framed  near  the  en- 
gine for  the  benefit  of  the  three  Europeans  and  the  eight 
or  nine  natives  who  have  to  mend  No.  607.  To  the 
ignorant  the  superhuman  wisdom  of  the  examiner  seems 
only  equalled  by  the  audacity  of  the  two  men  and  the 
boy  who  are  to  undertake  what  is  frivolously  called  the 
"  job."  No.  607  is  in  a  sorely  mangled  condition,  but 
403  is  much  worse.  She  is  reduced  to  a  shell  —  is  a 
very  elle-woman  of  an  engine,  bearing  only  her  funnel, 
the  iron  frame  and  the  saddle  that  supports  the  boiler. 
Four-and-twenty  engines  in  every  stage  of  decomposi- 
tion stand  in  one  huge  shop.  A  travelling  crane  runs 
overhead,  and  the  men  have  hauled  up  one  end  of  a 
bright  vermilion  loco.  The  effect  is  the  silence  of  a, 
scornful  stare  —  just  such  a  look  as  a  colonel's  portly 
wife  gives  through  her  pince-nez  at  the  audacious  sub- 
altern. Engines  are  the  "  livest "  things  that  man 
ever  made.  They  glare  through  their  spectacle-plates, 
they  tilt  their  noses  contemptuously,  and  when  their 
insides  are  gone  they  adorn  themselves  with  red'  lead, 
and  leer  like  decayed  beauties;  and  in  the  Jamalpur 
works  there  is  no  escape  from  them.  The  shops  can 
hold  fifty  without  pressure,  and  on  occasion  as  many 
again.  Everywhere  there  are  engines,  and  everywhere 


AMONG  THE   EAILWAY   FOLK        261 

brass  domes  lie  about  on  the  ground  like  huge  helmets 
in  a  pantomime.  The  silence  is  the  weirdest  touch  of 
all.  Some  sprightly  soul  —  an  apprentice  be  sure  —  has 
daubed  in  red  lead  on  the  end  of  an  iron  tool-box  a  cari- 
cature of  some  friend  who  is  evidently  a  riveter.  The 
picture  has  all  the  interest  of  an  Egyptian  cartouche, 
for  it  shows  that  men  have  been  here,  and  that  the 
engines  do  not  have  it  all  their  own  way. 

And  so,  out  in  the  open,  away  from  the  three  great 
sheds,  between  and  under  more  engines,  till  we  strike 
a  wilderness  of  lines  all  converging  to  one  turn-table. 
Here  be  elephant-stalls  ranged  round  a  half-circle,  and 
in  each  stall  stands  one  engine,  and  each  engine  stares 
at  the  turn-table.  A  stolid  and  disconcerting  company 
is  this  ring-of-eyes  monsters;  324,  432,  and  8  are  shin- 
ing like  toys.  They  are  ready  for  their  turn  of  duty, 
and  are  as  spruce  as  hansoms.  Lacquered  chocolate, 
picked  out  with  black,  red,  and  white,  is  their  dress, 
and  delicate  lemon  graces  the  ceilings  of  the  cabs. 
The  driver  should  be  a  gentleman  in  evening  dress  with 
white  kid  gloves,  and  there  should  be  gold-headed  cham- 
pagne bottles  in  the  spick  and  span  tenders.  Huckle- 
berry Finn  says  of  a  timber  raft,  "It  amounted  to 
something  being  captain  of  that  raft."  Thrice  enviable 
is  the  man  who,  drawing  Rs.  220  a  month,  is  allowed  to 
make  Rs.  150  overtime  out  of  locos.  Nos.  324,  432,  or  8. 
Fifty  yards  beyond  this  gorgeous  trinity  are  ten  to 
twelve  engines  who  have  put  in  to  Jamalpur  to  bait. 
They  are  alive,  their  fires  are  lighted,  and  they  are 
swearing  and  purring  and  growling  one  at  another  as 
they  stand  alone.  Here  is  evidently  one  of  the  newest 
type — No.  25,  a  giant  who  has  just  brought  the  mail  in 


262  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  waits  to  be  cleaned  up   preparatory  to  going  out 
afresh. 

The  tiffin  hour  has  ended.  The  buzzer  blows,  and 
with  a  roar,  a  rattle,  and  a  clang  the  shops  take  up 
their  toil.  The  hubbub  that  followed  on  the  Prince's 
kiss  to  the  sleeping  beauty  was  not  so  loud  or  sudden. 
Experience,  with  a  foot-rule  in  his  pocket,  authority  in 
his  port,  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  comes  up 
and  catches  Ignorance  walking  gingerly  round  No.  25. 
"  That's  one  of  the  best  we  have,"  says  Experience,  "  a 
four-wheeled  coupled  bogie  they  call  her.  She's  by 
Dobbs.  She's  done  her  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to-day ; 
and  she'll  run  in  to  Rampore  Haut  this  afternoon ;  then 
she'll  rest  a  day  and  be  cleaned  up.  Roughly,  she  does 
her  three  hundred  miles  in  the  four-and-twenty  hours. 
She's  a  beauty.  She's  out  from  home,  but  we  can  build 
our  own  engines  —  all  except  the  wheels.  We're  build- 
ing ten  locos,  now,  and  we've  got  a  dozen  boilers  ready 
if  you  care  to  look  at  them.  How  long  does  a  loco. 
•  last  ?  That's  just  as  may  be.  She  will  do  as  much  as 
her  driver  lets  her.  Some  men  play  the  mischief  with 
a  loco,  and  some  handle  'em  properly.  Our  drivers 
prefer  Hawthorne's  old  four-wheeled  coupled  engines 
because  they  give  the  least  bother.  There  is  one  in  that 
shed,  and  it's  a  good  'un  to  travel.  But  eighty  thou- 
sand miles  generally  sees  the  gloss  off  an  engine,  and 
she  goes  into  the  shops  to  be  overhauled  and  refitted 
and  replaned,  and  a  lot  of  things  that  you  wouldn't 
understand  if  I  told  you  about  them.  No.  1,  the 
first  loco,  on  the  line,  is  running  still,  but  very  little 
of  the  original  engine  must  be  left  by  this  time. 
That  one  there,  came  out  in  the  Mutiny  year.  She's 


AMONG  THE  EAILWAY   FOLK        263 

by  Slaughter  and  Grunning,  and  she's  built  for  speed 
in  front  of  a  light  load.  French-looking  sort  of  thing, 
isn't  she  ?  That's  because  her  cylinders  are  on  a  tilt. 
We  used  her  for  the  mail  once,  but  the  mail  has 
grown  heavier  and  heavier,  and  now  we  use  six-wheeled 
coupled  eighteen-inch,  inside  cylinder,  45-ton  locos,  to 
shift  thousand-ton  trains.  No  I  All  locos,  aren't  alike. 
It  isn't  merely  pulling  a  lever.  The  Company  likes  its 
drivers  to  know  their  locos.,  and  a  man  will  keep  his 
Hawthorne  for  two  or  three  years.  The  more  mileage 
he  gets  out  of  her  before  she  has  to  be  overhauled 
the  better  man  he  is.  It  pays  to  let  a  man  have  his 
fancy  engine.  A  man  must  take  an  interest  in  his 
loco.,  and  that  means  she  must  belong  to  him.  Some 
locos,  won't  do  anything,  even  if  you  coax  and  humour 
them.  I  don't  think  there  are  any  unlucky  ones  now, 
but  some  years  ago  No.  31  wasn't  popular.  The  driv- 
ers went  sick  or  took  leave  when  they  were  told  off 
for  her.  She  killed  her  driver  on  the  Jubbulpore  line, 
she  left  the  rails  at  Kajra,  she  did  something  or  other 
at  Rampur  Haut,  and  Lord  knows  what  she  didn't  do 
or  try  to  do  in  other  places!  All  the  drivers  fought 
shy  of  her,  and  in  the  end  she  disappeared.  They 
said  she  was  condemned,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the 
Company  changed  her  number  quietly,  and  changed 
the  luck  at  the  same  time.  You  see,  the  Government 
Inspector  comes  and  looks  at  our  stock  now  and  again, 
and  when  an  engine's  condemned  he  puts  his  dhobi- 
mark  on  her,  and  she's  broken  up.  Well,  No.  31  was 
condemned,  but  there  was  a  whisper  that  they  only 
shifted  her  number,  and  ran  her  out  again.  When  the 
drivers  didn't  know,  there  were  no  accidents.  I  don't 


264  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

think  we've  got  an  unlucky  one  running  now.  Some 
are  different  from  others,  but  there  are  no  man-eaters. 
Yes,  a  driver  of  the  mail  is  somebody.  He  can  make 
Rs.  370  a  month  if  he's  a  covenanted  man.  We  get  a 
lot  of  our  drivers  in  the  country,  and  we  don't  import 
from  England  as  much  as  we  did.  'Stands  to  reason 
that,  now  there's  more  competition  both  among  lines 
and  in  the  labour  market,  the  Company  can't  afford  to 
be  as  generous  as  it  used  to  be.  It  doesn't  cheat  a  man 
though.  It's  this  way  with  the  drivers.  A  native 
driver  gets  about  Us.  20  a  month,  and  in  his  way  he's 
supposed  to  be  good  enough  for  branch  work  and 
shunting  and  such.  Well,  an  English  driver'll  get  from 
Rs.  80  to  Rs.  220,  and  overtime.  The  English  driver 
knows  what  the  native  gets,  and  in  time  they  tell  the 
driver  that  the  native'll  improve.  The  driver  has  that 
to  think  of.  You  see  ?  That's  competition ! " 

Experience  returns  to  the  engine-sheds,  now  full  of 
clamour,  and  enlarges  on  the  beauties  of  sick  locomotives. 
The  fitters  and  the  assistants  and  the  apprentices  are 
hammering  and  punching  and  gauging,  and  otherwise 
technically  disporting  themselves  round  their  enormous 
patients,  and  their  language,  as  caught  in  snatches,  is 
beautifully  unintelligible. 

But  one  flying  sentence  goes  straight  to  the  heart.  It 
is  the  cry  of  Humanity  over  the  task  of  Life,  done  into 
unrefined  English.  An  apprentice,  grimed  to  his  eye- 
brows, his  cloth  cap  well  on  the  back  of  his  curly  head 
and  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  is  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  a  tool-box  ruefully  regarding  the  very  much  disorgan- 
ised engine  whose  slave  is  he.  A  handsome  boy,  this 
apprentice,  and  well  made.  He  whistles  softly  between 


AMONG  THE  RAILWAY  FOLK        265 

his  teeth,  and  his  brow  puckers.  Then  he  addresses  the 
engine,  half  in  expostulation  and  half  in  despair,  "Oh. 
you  condemned  old  female  dog!"  He  puts^the  sentence 
more  crisply  —  much  more  crisply  —  and  Ignorance 
chuckles  sympathetically. 

Ignorance  also  is  puzzled  over  these  engines. 


CHAPTEE  III 

VULCAN'S  FORGE. 

IN  the  wilderness  of  the  railway  shops  —  and  ma- 
chinery that  planes  and  shaves,  and  bevels  and  stamps, 
and  punches  and  hoists  and  nips  —  the  first  idea  that 
occurs  to  an  outsider,  when  he  has  seen  the  men  who 
people  the  place,  is  that  it  must  be  the  birthplace  of 
inventions  —  a  pasture-ground  of  fat  patents.  If  a  writ- 
ing-man, who  plays  with  shadows  and  dresses  dolls  that 
others  may  laugh  at  their  antics,  draws  help  and  comfort 
and  new  methods  of  working  old  ideas  from  the  stored 
shelves  of  a  library,  how,  in  the  name  of  Commonsense, 
his  god,  can  a  doing-man,  whose  mind  is  set  upon  things 
that  snatch  a  few  moments  from  flying  Time  or  put 
power  into  weak  hands,  refrain  from  going  forward  and 
adding  new  inventions  to  the  hundreds  among  which  he 
daily  moves  ? 

Appealed  to  on  this  subject,  Experience,  who  had 
served  the  E.  I.  R.  loyally  for  many  years,  held  his 
peace.  "  We  don't  go  in  much  for  patents ;  but,"  he 
added,  with  a  praiseworthy  attempt  to  turn  the  conver- 
sation, "we  can  build  you  any  mortal  thing  you  like. 
We've  got  the  Bradford  Leslie  steamer  for  the  Sahib- 
gunge  ferry.  Come  and  see  the  brass-work  for  her  bows. 
It's  in  the  casting-shed." 

It  would  have  been  cruel  to  have  pressed  Experience 
266 


AMONG   THE  RAILWAY  FOLK        267 

further,  and  Ignorance,  to  foredate  matters  a  little,  went 
about  to  discover  why  Experience  shied  off  this  question, 
and  why  the  men  of  Jamalpur  had  not  each  and  all 
invented  and  patented  something.  He  won  his  informa- 
tion in  the  end,  but  did  not  come  from  Jamalpur.  That 
must  be  clearly  understood.  It  was  found  anywhere 
you  please  between  Howrah  and  Hoti  Mardan  ;  and  here 
it  is  that  all  the  world  may  admire  a  prudent  and  far- 
sighted  Board  of  Directors.  Once  upon  a  time,  as  every 
one  in  the  profession  knows,  two  men  invented  the  D. 
and  0.  sleeper  —  cast  iron,  of  five  pieces,  very  service- 
able. The  men  were  in  the  Company's  employ,  and 
their  masters  said :  "  Your  brains  are  ours.  Hand  us 
over  those  sleepers."  Being  of  pay  and  position,  D.  and 
0.  made  some  sort  of  resistance  and  got  a  royalty  or  a 
bonus.  At  any  rate,  the  Company  had  to  pay  for  its 
sleepers.  But  thereafter,  and  the  condition  exists  to 
this  day,  they  caused  it  to  be  written  in  each  servant's 
covenant,  that  if  by  chance  he  invented  aught,  his 
invention  was  to  belong  to  the  Company.  Providence 
has  mercifully  arranged  that  no  man  or  syndicate  of 
men  can  buy  the  "  holy  spirit  of  man  "  outright  without 
suffering  in  some  way  or  another  just  as  much  as  the 
purchase.  America  fully,  and  Germany  in  part,  recog- 
nises this  law.  The  E.  I.  Railway's  breach  of  it  is 
thoroughly  English.  They  say,  or  it  is  said  of  them 
that  they  say,  "  We  are  afraid  of  our  men,  who  belong 
to  us,  wasting  their  time  on  trying  to  invent." 

Is  it  wholly  impossible,  then,  for  men  of  mechanical 
experience  and  large  sympathies  to  check  the  mere 
patent-hunter  and  bring  forward  the  man  with  an  idea  ? 
Is  there  no  supervision  in  the  "  shops,"  or  have  the  men 


268  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

who  play  tennis  and  billiards  at  the  institute  not  a 
minute  which  they  can  rightly  call  their  very  own? 
Would  it  ruin  the  richest  Company  in  India  to  lend 
their  model-shop  and  their  lathes  to  half  a  dozen,  or,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  half  a  hundred,  abortive  experi- 
ments ?  A  Massachusetts  organ  factory,  a  Racine  buggy 
shop,  an  Oregon  lumber-yard,  would  laugh  at  the  notion. 
An  American  toy-maker  might  swindle  an  employe  after 
the  invention,  but  he  would  in  his  own  interests  help 
the  man  to  "  see  what  comes  of  the  thing."  Surely  a 
wealthy,  a  powerful  and,  as  all  Jamalpur  bears  witness, 
a  considerate  Company  might  cut  that  clause  out  of  the 
covenant  and  await  the  issue.  There  would  be  quite 
enough  jealousy  between  man  and  man,  grade  and  grade, 
to  keep  down  all  but  the  keenest  souls ;  and,  with  due 
respect  to  the  steam-hammer  and  the  rolling-mill,  we 
have  not  yet  made  machinery  perfect.  The  "shops" 
are  not  likely  to  spawn  unmanageable  Stephensons  or 
grasping  Brunels ;  but  in  the  minor  turns  of  mechan- 
ical thought  that  find  concrete  expressions  in  links,  axle- 
boxes,  joint  packings,  valves,  and  spring-stirrups  some- 
thing might  —  something  would  —  be  done  were  the 
practical  prohibition  removed.  Will  a  North  coun- 
tryman give  you  anything  but  warm  hospitality  for 
nothing?  Or  if  you  claim  from  him  overtime  service 
as  a  right,  will  he  work  zealously?  "Ony thing  but  t' 
brass,"  is  his  motto,  and  his  ideas  are  his  "  brass." 

Gentlemen  in  authority,  if  this  should  meet  your  au- 
gust eyes,  spare  it  a  minute's  thought,  and,  clearing 
away  the  floridity,  get  to  the  heart  of  the  mistake  and 
see  if  it  cannot  be  rationally  put  right.  Above  all,  re- 
member that  Jamalpur  supplied  no  information.  It  was 


AMONG  THE  RAILWAY  FOLK        269 

as  mute  as  an  oyster.  There  is  no  one  within  your 
jurisdiction  to  —  ahem  —  "  drop  upon." 

Let  us,  after  this  excursion  into  the  offices,  return  to 
the  shops  and  only  ask  Experience  such  questions  as  he 
can  without  disloyalty  answer. 

"  We  used  once,"  says  he,  leading  to  the  foundry,  "  to 
sell  our  old  rails  and  import  new  ones.  Even  when  we 
used  'em  for  roof  beams  and  so  on,  we  had  more  than 
we  knew  what  to  do  with.  Now  we  have  got  rolling- 
mills,  and  we  use  the  rails  to  make  tie-bars  for  the  D. 
and  0.  sleepers  and  all  sorts  of  things.  We  turn  out 
five  hundred  D.  and  0.  sleepers  a  day.  Altogether,  we 
use  about  seventy-five  tons  of  our  own  iron  a  month 
here.  Iron  in  Calcutta  costs  about  five-eight  a  hundred- 
weight; ours  costs  between  three-four  and  three-eight, 
and  on  that  item  alone  we  save  three  thousand  a  month. 
Don't  ask  me  how  many  miles  of  rails  we  own.  There 
are  fifteen  hundred  miles  of  line,  and  you  can  make  your 
own  calculation.  All  those  things  like  babies'  graves, 
down  in  that  shed,  are  the  moulds  for  the  D.  and  0. 
sleepers.  We  test  them  by  dropping  three  hundred- 
weight and  three  hundred  quarters  of  iron  on  top  of 
them  from  a  height  of  seven  feet,  or  eleven  sometimes. 
They  don't  often  smash.  We  have  a  notion  here  that 
our  iron  is  as  good  as  the  Home  stuff." 

A  sleek,  white,  and  brindled  pariah  thrusts  himself 
into  the  conversation.  His  house  appears  to  be  on  the 
warm  ashes  of  the  bolt-maker.  This  is  a  horrible  ma- 
chine, which  chews  red-hot  iron  bars  and  spits  them  out 
perfect  bolts.  Its  manners  are  disgusting,  and  it  gobbles 
over  its  food. 

"  Hi,  Jack ! "  says  Experience,  stroking  the  interloper, 


270  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

"you've  been  trying  to  break  your  leg  again.  That's 
the  dog  of  the  works.  At  least  he  makes  believe  that 
the  works  belong  to  him.  He'll  follow  any  one  of  us 
about  the  shops  as  far  as  the  gate,  but  never  a  step 
further.  You  can  see  he's  in  first-class  condition.  The 
boys  give  him  his  ticket,  and,  one  of  these  days,  he'll 
try  to  get  on  to  the  Company's  books  as  a  regular 
worker.  He's  too  clever  to  live."  Jack  heads  the  pro- 
cession as  far  as  the  walls  of  the  rolling-shed  and  then 
returns  to  his  machinery  room.  He  waddles  with  fat- 
ness and  despises  strangers. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  be  hot-potted  there  ?  "  says 
Experience,  who  has  read  and  who  is  enthusiastic  over 
She,  as  he  points  to  the  great  furnaces  whence  the  slag 
is  being  dragged  out  by  hooks.  "  Here  is  the  old  ma- 
terial going  into  the  furnace  in  that  big  iron  bucket. 
Look  at  the  scraps  of  iron.  There's  an  old  D.  and  0. 
sleeper,  there's  a  lot  of  clips  from  a  cylinder,  there's  a 
lot  of  snipped-up  rails,  there's  a  driving-wheel  block, 
there's  an  old  hook,  and  a  sprinkling  of  boiler-plates  and 
rivets." 

The  bucket  is  tipped  into  the  furnace  with  a  thunder- 
ous roar  and  the  slag  below  pours  forth  more  quickly. 
"An  engine,"  says  Experience,  reflectively,  "can  run 
over  herself  so  to  say.  After  she's  broken  up  she  is 
made  into  sleepers  for  the  line.  You'll  see  how  she's 
broken  up  later."  A  few  pa«es  further  on,  semi-nude 
demons  are  capering  over  strips  of  glowing  hot  iron 
which  are  put  into  a  mill  as  rails  and  emerge  as  thin, 
shapely  tie-bars.  The  natives  wear  rough  sandals  and 
some  pretence  of  aprons,  but  the  greater  part  of  them  is 
"  all  face."  "  As  I  said  before,"  says  Experience,  "  a 


AMONG  THE   RAILWAY  FOLK        271 

native's  cuteness  when  he's  working  on  ticket  is  some- 
thing startling.  Beyond  occasionally  hanging  on  to  a 
red-hot  bar  too  long  and  so  letting  their  pincers  be 
drawn  through  the  mills,  these  men  take  precious  good 
care  not  to  go  wrong.  Our  machinery  is  fenced  and 
guard-railed  as  much  as  possible,  and  these  men  don't 
get  caught  up  by  the  belting.  In  the  first  place,  they're 
careful  —  the  father  warns  the  son  and  so  on  —  and  in 
the  second,  there's  nothing  about  'em  for  the  belting  to 
catch  on  unless  the  man  shoves  his  hand  in.  Oh,  a  na- 
tive's no  fool !  He  knows  that  it  doesn't  do  to  be  fool- 
ish when  he's  dealing  with  a  crane  or  a  driving-wheel. 
You're  looking  at  all  those  chopped  rails?  We  make 
our  iron  as  they  blend  baccy.  We  mix  up  all  sorts  to 
get  the  required  quality.  Those  rails  have  just  been 
chopped  by  this  tobacco-cutter  thing."  Experience 
bends  down  and  sets  a  vicious-looking,  parrot-headed 
beam  to  work.  There  is  a  quiver  —  a  snap  —  and  a  dull 
smash  and  a  heavy  rail  is  nipped  in  two  like  a  stick  of 
barley-sugar. 

Elsewhere,  a  bull-nosed  hydraulic  cutter  is  rail-cut- 
ting as  if  it  enjoyed  the  fun.  In  another  shed  stand  the 
steam-hammers;  the  unemployed  ones  murmuring  and 
muttering  to  themselves,  as  is  the  uncanny  custom  of 
all  steam-souled  machinery.  Experience,  with  his  hand 
on  a  long  lever,  makes  one  of  the  monsters  perform : 
and  though  Ignorance  knows  that  a  man  designed  and 
men  do  continually  build  steam-hammers,  the  effect  is 
as  though  Experience  were  maddening  a  chained  beast. 
The  massive  block  slides  down  the  guides,  only  to  pause 
hungrily  an  inch  above  the  anvil,  or  restlessly  throb 
through  a  foot  and  a  half  of  space,  each  motion  being 


272  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

controlled  by  an  almost  imperceptible  handling  of  the 
levers.  "  When  these  things  are  newly  overhauled,  you 
can  regulate  your  blow  to  within  an  eighth  of  an  inch," 
says  Experience.  "We  had  a  foreman  here  once  who 
could  work  'em  beautifully.  He  had  the  touch.  One 
day  a  visitor,  no  end  of  a  swell  in  a  tall,  white  hat,  came 
round  the  works,  and  our  foreman  borrowed  the  hat  and 
brought  the  hammer  down  just  enough  to  press  the  nap 
and  no  more.  '  How  wonderful ! '  said  the  visitor,  put- 
ting his  hand  carelessly  upon  this  lever  rod  here."  Ex- 
perience suits  the  action  to  the  word  and  the  hammer 
thunders  on  the  anvil.  "  Well,  you  can  guess  for  your- 
self. Next  minute  there  wasn't  enough  left  of  that  tall, 
white  hat  to  make  a  postage-stamp  of.  Steam-hammers 
aren't  things  to  play  with.  Now  we'll  go  over  to  the 
stores  .  .  ." 

Whatever  apparent  disorder  there  might  have  been 
in  the  works,  the  store  department  is  as  clean  as  a  new 
pin,  and  stupefying  in  its  naval  order.  Copper  plates, 
bar,  angle,  and  rod  iron,  duplicate  cranks  and  slide  bars, 
the  piston  rods  of  the  Bradford  Leslie  steamer,  engine 
grease,  files,  and  hammer-heads  —  every  conceivable  arti- 
cle, from  leather  laces  of  beltings  to  head-lamps,  neces- 
sary for  the  due  and  proper  working  of  a  long  line,  is 
stocked,  stacked,  piled,  and  put  away  in  appropriate 
compartments.  In  the  midst  of  it  all,  neck  deep  in 
ledgers  and  indent  forms,  stands  the  many-handed  Babu, 
the  steam  of  the  engine  whose  power  extends  from 
Howrah  to  Ghaziabad. 

The  Company  does  everything,  and  knows  everything. 
The  gallant  apprentice  may  be  a  wild  youth  with  an 
earnest  desire  to  go  occasionally  "  upon  the  bend."  But 


AMONG  THE   RAILWAY  FOLK        273 

three  times  a  week,  between  7  and  8  P.M.,  lie  must  at- 
tend the  night-school  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  M.  Bonnaud, 
who  teaches  him  mechanics  and  statics  so  thoroughly 
that  even  the  awful  Government  Inspector  is  pleased. 
And  when  there  is  no  night-school  the  Company  will 
by  no  means  wash  its  hands  of  its  men  out  of  working- 
hours.  No  man  can  be  violently  restrained  from  going 
to  the  bad  if  he  insists  upon  it,  but  in  the  service  of 
the  Company  a  man  has  every  warning;  his  escapades 
are  known,  and  a  judiciously  arranged  transfer  some- 
times keeps  a  good  fellow  clear  of  the  down-grade.  No 
one  can  flatter  himself  that  in  the  multitude  he  is  over- 
looked, or  believe  that  between  4  P.M.  and  9  A.M.  he  is 
at  liberty  to  misdemean  himself.  Sooner  or  later,  but 
generally  sooner,  his  goings-on  are  known,  and  he  is 
reminded  that  "  Britons  never  shall  be  slaves "  —  to 
things  that  destroy  good  work  as  well  as  souls.  Maybe 
the  Company  acts  only  in  its  own  interest,  but  the 
result  is  good. 

Best  and  prettiest  of  the  many  good  and  pretty  things 
in  Jamalpur  is  the  institute  of  a  Saturday  when  the 
Volunteer  Band  is  playing  and  the  tennis  courts  are 
full  and  the  babydom  of  Jamalpur  —  fat,  sturdy  chil- 
dren—  frolic  round  the  band-stand.  The  people  dance 
—  but  big  as  the  institute  is,  it  is  getting  too  small  for 
their  dances  —  they  act,  they  play  billiards,  they  study 
their  newspapers,  they  play  cards  and  everything  else, 
and  they  flirt  in  a  sumptuous  building,  and  in  the  hot 
weather  the  gallant  apprentice  ducks  his  friend  in  the 
big  swimming-bath.  Decidedly  the  railway  folk  make 
their  lives  pleasant. 

Let  us  go  down  southward  to  the  big  Giridih  collieries 

VOL.  II  —  T 


274  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  see  the  coal  that  feeds  the  furnace  that  smelts  the 
iron  that  makes  the  sleeper  that  bears  the  loco,  that 
pulls  the  carriage  that  holds  the  freight  that  comes  from 
the  country  that  is  made  richer  by  the  Great  Company 
Badahur,  the  East  Indian  Railway. 


THE    GIRIDIH   COAL-FIELDS 

CHAPTER  I 

ON   THE   SURFACE. 

SOUTHWARD,  always  southward  and  easterly,  runs  the 
Calcutta  Mail  from  Luckeeserai,  till  she  reaches  Madapur 
in  the  Sonthal  Parganas.  From  Madapur  a  train,  largely 
made  up  of  coal-trucks,  heads  westward  into  the  Hazari- 
bagh  district  and  toward  Giridih.  A  week  would  not 
have  exhausted  "  Jamalpur  and  its  environs,"  as  the 
guide-books  say.  But  since  time  drives  and  man  must 
e'en  be  driven,  the  weird,  echoing  bund  in  the  hills  above 
Jamalpur,  where  the  owls  hoot  at  night  and  hyenas  come 
down  to  laugh  over  the  grave  of  "  Quilem  Roberts,  who 
died  from  the  effects  of  an  encounter  with  a  tiger  near 
this  place,  A.D.  1864,"  goes  undescribed.  Nor  is  it  possi- 
ble to  deal  with  Monghyr,  the  headquarters  of  the  dis- 
trict, where  one  sees  for  the  first  time  the  age  of  Old 
Bengal  in  the  sleepy,  creepy  station,  built  in  a  time-eaten 
fort,  which  runs  out  into  the  Ganges,  and  is  full  of 
quaint  houses,  with  fat-legged  balustrades  on  the  roofs. 
Pensioners  certainly,  and  probably  a  score  of  ghosts,  live 
in  Monghyr.  All  the  country  seems  haunted.  Is  there 
not  at  Pir  Bahar  a  lonely  house  on  a  bluff,  the  grave  of 
a  young  lady,  who,  thirty  years  ago,  rode  her  horse  down 
the  cliff  and  perished?  Has  not  Monghyr  a  haunted 
house  in  which  tradition  says  sceptics  have  seen  much 

275 


276  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

more  than  they  could  account  for  ?  And  is  it  not  notori- 
ous throughout  the  countryside  that  the  seven  miles  of 
road  between  Jamalpur  and  Monghyr  are  nightly  paraded 
by  tramping  battalions  of  spectres,  phantoms  of  an  old- 
time  army  massacred,  who  knows  how  long  ago?  The 
common  voice  attests  all  these  things,  and  an  eerie  ceme- 
tery packed  with  blackened,  lichened,  candle-extinguisher 
tomb-stones  persuades  the  listener  to  believe  all  that  he 
hears.  Bengal  is  second  —  or  third  is  it  ?  —  in  order  of 
seniority  among  the  Provinces,  and  like  an  old  nurse, 
she  tells  many  witch-tales. 

But  ghosts  have  nothing  to  do  with  collieries,  and  that 
ever-present  "  Company,"  the  E.  I.  E.,  has  more  or  less 
made  Giridih  —  principally  more.  "  Before  the  E.  I.  R. 
came,"  say  the  people,  "  we  had  one  meal  a  day.  Now 
we  have  two."  Stomachs  do  not  tell  fibs,  whatever 
mouths  may  say.  That  "Company,"  in  the  course  of 
business,  throws  about  five  lakhs  a  year  into  the  Hazari- 
bagh  district  in  the  form  of  wages  alone,  and  Giridih 
Bazaar  has  to  supply  the  wants  of  twelve  thousand  men, 
women,  and  children.  But  we  have  now  the  authority 
of  a  number  of  high-souled  and  intelligent  native  prints 
that  the  Sahib  of  all  grades  spends  his  time  in  "  sucking 
the  blood  out  of  the  country,"  and  "  flying  to  England  to 
spend  his  ill-gotten  gains." 

Giridih  is  perfectly  mad  —  quite  insane !  Geologi- 
cally, "  the  country  is  in  the  metamorphic  higher 
grounds  that  rise  out  of  the  alluvial  flats  of  Lower 
Bengal  between  the  Osri  and  the  Barakar  rivers." 
Translated,  this  sentence  means  that  you  can  twist 
your  ankle  on  pieces  of  pure  white,  pinky,  and  yel- 
lowish granite,  slip  over  weather-worn  sandstone,  griev 


THE   GIRIDIH   COAL-FIELDS         277 

ously  cut  your  boots  over  flakes  of  trap,  and  throw 
hornblende  pebbles  at  the  dogs.  Never  was  such  a 
place  for  stone-throwing  as  Giridih.  The  general  as- 
pect of  the  country  is  falsely  park-like,  because  it  swells 
and  sinks  in  a  score  of  grass-covered  undulations,  and 
is  adorned  with  plantation-like  jungle.  There  are  low 
hills  on  every  side,  and  twelve  miles  away  bearing  south 
the  blue  bulk  of  the  holy  hill  of  Parasnath,  greatest  of 
the  Jain  Tirthankars,  overlooks  the  world.  In  Bengal 
they  consider  four  thousand  five  hundred  feet  good 
enough  for  a  Dagshai  or  Kasauli,  and  once  upon  a  time 
they  tried  to  put  troops  on  Parasnath.  There  was  a 
scarcity  of  water,  and  Thomas  of  those  days  found  the 
silence  and  seclusion  prey  upon  his  spirits.  Since 
twenty  years,  therefore,  Parasnath  has  been  abandoned 
by  Her  Majesty's  Army. 

As  to  Giridih  itself,  the  last  few  miles  of  train  bring 
up  the  reek  of  the  "  Black  Country."  Memory  depends 
on  smell.  A  noseless  man  is  devoid  of  sentiment,  just 
as  a  noseless  woman,  in  this  country,  must  be  devoid  of 
honour.  That  first  breath  of  the  coal  should  be  the 
breath  of  the  murky,  clouded  tract  between  Yeadon  and 
Dale  —  or  Barnsley,  rough  and  hospitable  Barnsley  —  or 
Dewsbury  and  Batley  and  the  Derby  Canal  on  a  Sunday 
afternoon  when  the  wheels  are  still  and  the  young  men 
and  maidens  walk  stolidly  in  pairs.  Unfortunately,  it 
is  nothing  more  than  Giridih  —  seven  thousand  miles 
away  from  Home  and  blessed  with  a  warm  and  genial 
sunshine,  soon  to  turn  into  something  very  much  worse. 
The  insanity  of  the  place  is  visible  at  the  station  door. 
A  G.  B.  T.  cart  once  married  a  bathing-machine,  and 
they  called  the  child  turn-turn.  You  who  in  flannel  and 


278  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

Cawnpore  harness  drive  bamboo-carts  about  up-country 
roads,  remember  that  a  Giridih  turn-turn  is  painfully 
pushed  by  four  men,  and  must  be  entered  crawling  on 
all-fours,  head  first.  So  strange  are  the  ways  of  Bengal ! 

They  drive  mad  horses  in  Giridih  —  animals  that  be- 
come hysterical  as  soon  as  the  dusk  falls  and  the  country- 
side blazes  with  the  fires  of  the  great  coke  ovens.  If 
you  expostulate  tearfully,  they  produce  another  horse, 
a  raw,  red  fiend  whose  ear  has  to  be  screwed  round  and 
round,  and  round  and  round,  before  she  will  by  any 
manner  of  means  consent  to  start.  The  roads  carry 
neat  little  eighteen-inch  trenches  at  their  sides,  admir- 
ably adapted  to  hold  the  flying  wheel.  Skirling  about 
this  savage  land  in  the  dark,  the  white  population  be- 
guile the  time  by  rapturously  recounting  past  accidents, 
insisting  throughout  on  the  super-equine  "steadiness" 
of  their  cattle.  Deep  and  broad  and  wide  is  their  jovial 
hospitality;  but  somebody  —  the  Tirhoot  planters  for 
choice  —  ought  to  start  a  mission  to  teach  the  men  of 
Giridih  what  to  drive.  They  know  how,  or  they  would 
be  severally  and  separately  and  many  times  dead,  but 
they  do  not,  they  do  not  indeed,  know  that  animals 
who  stand  on  one  hind  leg  and  beckon  with  all  the  rest, 
or  try  to  pigstick  in  harness,  are  not  trap-horses  worthy 
of  endearing  names,  but  things  to  be  pole-axed.  Their 
feelings  are  hurt  when  you  say  this.  "Sit  tight,"  say 
the  men  of  Giridih ;  "  we're  insured !  We  can't  be 
hurt." 

And  now  with  grey  hairs,  dry  mouth,  and  chattering 
teeth  to  the  collieries.  The  E.  I.  R.  estate,  bought  or 
leased  in  perpetuity  from  the  Serampore  Raja,  may  be 
about  four  miles  long  and  between  one  and  two  miles 


THE   GIRIDIH  COAL-FIELDS         279 

across.  It  is  in  two  pieces,  the  Serampore  field  being 
separated  from  the  Karharbari  (or  Kurhurballi  or  Kabar- 
bari)  field  by  the  property  of  the  Bengal  Coal  Company. 
The  Raneegunge  Coal  Association  lies  to  the  east  of  all 
other  workings.  So  we  have  three  companies  at  work 
on  about  eleven  square  miles  of  land. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  getting  a  full  view  of  the 
whole  place.  A  short  walk  over  a  grassy  down  gives 
on  to  an  outcrop  of  very  dirty  sandstone,  which  in  the 
excessive  innocence  of  his  heart  the  visitor  naturally 
takes  to  be  the  coal  lying  neatly  on  the  surface.  Up  to 
this  sandstone  the  path  seems  to  be  made  of  crushed 
sugar,  so  white  and  shiny  is  the  quartz.  Over  the  brow 
of  the  down  comes  in  sight  the  old  familiar  pit-head 
wheel,  spinning  for  the  dear  life,  and  the  eye  loses 
itself  in  a  maze  of  pumping  sheds,  red-tiled,  mud-walled 
miners'  huts,  dotted  all  over  the  landscape,  and  railway 
lines  that  run  on  every  kind  of  gradient.  There  are 
lines  that  dip  into  valleys  and  disappear  round  the 
shoulders  of  slopes,  and  lines  that  career  on  the  tops 
of  rises  and  disappear  over  the  brow  of  the  slopes. 
Along  these  lines  whistle  and  pant  metre-gauge  engines, 
some  with  trucks  at  their  tail,  and  others  rattling  back 
to  the  pit-lDank  with  the  absurd  air  of  a  boy  late  for 
school  that  an  unemployed  engine  always  assumes. 
There  are  six  engines  in  all,  and  as  it  is  easiest  to  walk 
along  the  lines  one  sees  a  good  deal  of  them.  They  bear 
not  altogether  unfamiliar  names.  Here,  for  instance, 
passes  the  "  Cockburn "  whistling  down  a  grade  with 
thirty  tons  of  coal  at  her  heels;  while  the  "Whitly" 
and  the  "  Olpherts  "  are  waiting  for  their  complement  of 
trucks.  Now  a  Mr.  T.  F.  Cockburn  was  superintendent 


280  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

of  these  mines  nearly  thirty  years  ago,  in  the  days 
before  the  chord-lines  from  Kanu  to  Luckeeserai  were 
built,  and  all  the  coal  was  carted  to  the  latter  place; 
and  surely  Mr.  Olpherts  was  an  engineer  who  helped 
to  think  out  a  new  sleeper.  What  may  these  things 
mean? 

"  Apotheosis  of  the  Manager,"  is  the  reply.  "  Christen 
the  engines  after  the  managers.  You'll  find  Cockburn, 
Dunn,  Whitly,  Abbott,  Olpherts,  and  Saise,  knocking 
about  the  place.  Sounds  funny,  doesn't  it?  Doesn't 
sound  so  funny,  when  one  of  these  idiots  does  his  best 
to  derail  Saise,  though,  by  putting  a  line  down  anyhow. 
Look  at  that  line !  Laid  out  in  knots  —  by  Jove  ! "  To 
the  unprofessional  eye  the  rails  seem  all  correct;  but 
there  must  be  something  wrong,  because  "one  of  those 
idiots"  is  asked  why  in  the  name  of  all  he  considers 
sacred  he  does  not  ram  the  ballast  properly. 

"  What  would  happen  if  you  threw  an  engine  off  the 
line  ?  "  "  Can't  say  that  I  know  exactly.  You  see,  our 
business  is  to  keep  them  on,  and  we  do  that.  Here's 
rather  a  curiosity.  You  see  liiat  pointsman!  They 
say  he's  an  old  mutineer,  and  when  he  relaxes  he  boasts 
of  the  Sahibs  he  has  killed.  He's  glad  enough  to  eat 
the  Company's  salt  now."  Such  a  withered  old  face 
was  the  face  of  the  pointsman  at  No.  11  point!  The 
information  suggested  a  host  of  questions,  and  the 
answers  were  these :  "  You  won't  be  able  to  understand 
till  you've  been  down  into  a  mine.  We  work  our  men  in 
two  ways:  some  by  direct  payment  —  under  our  own 
hand,  and  some  by  contractors.  The  contractor  under- 
takes to  deliver  us  the  coal,  supplying  his  own  men, 
tools,  and  props.  He's  responsible  for  the  safety  of  his 


THE   GIRIDIH  COAL-FIELDS          281 

men,  and  of  course  the  Company  knows  and  sees  his 
work.  Just  fancy,  among  these  five  thousand  people, 
what  sort  of  effect  the  news  of  an  accident  would  pro- 
duce !  It  would  go  all  through  the  Sonthal  Parganas. 
We  have  any  amount  of  Sonthals  besides  Mahometans 
and  Hindus  of  every  possible  caste,  down  to  those 
Musahers  who  eat  pig.  They  don't  require  much  ad- 
ministering in  the  civilian  sense  of  the  word.  On 
Sundays,  as  a  rule,  if  any  man  has  had  his  daughter 
eloped  with,  or  anything  of  that  kind,  he  generally 
comes  up  to  the  manager's  bungalow  to  get  the  matter 
put  straight.  If  a  man  is  disabled  through  accident  he 
knows  that  as  long  as  he's  in  the  hospital  he  gets  full 
wages,  and  the  Company  pays  for  the  food  of  any  of 
his  women-folk  who  come  to  look  after  him.  One,  of 
course;  not  the  whole  clan.  That  makes  our  service 
popular  with  the  people.  Don't  you  believe  that  a 
native  is  a  fool.  You  can  train  him  to  everything  ex- 
cept responsibility.  There's  a  rule  in  the  workings  that 
if  there  is  any  dangerous  work  —  we  haven't  choke- 
damp;  I  will  show  you  when  we  get  down  —  no  gang 
must  work  without  an  Englishman  to  look  after  them. 
A  native  wouldn't  be  wise  enough  to  understand  what 
the  danger  was,  or  where  it  came  in.  Even  if  he  did, 
he'd  shirk  the  responsibility.  We  can't  afford  to  risk  a 
single  life.  All  our  output  is  just  as  much  as  the  Com- 
pany want  —  about  a  thousand  tons  per  working  day. 
Three  hundred  thousand  in  the  year.  We  could  turn 
out  more?  Yes  —  a  little.  Well,  yes,  twice  as  much. 
I  won't  go  on,  because  you  wouldn't  believe  me.  There's 
the  coal  under  us,  and  we  work  it  at  any  depth  from 
following  up  an  outcrop  down  to  six  hundred  feet.  That 


282  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

is  our  deepest  shaft.  We  have  no  necessity  to  go  deeper. 
At  home  the  mines  are  sometimes  fifteen  hundred  feet 
down.  Well,  the  thickness  of  this  coal  here  varies  from 
anything  you  please  to  anything  you  please.  There's 
enough  of  it  to  last  your  time  and  one  or  two  hundred 
years  longer.  Perhaps  even  longer  than  that.  Look  at 
that  stuff.  That's  big  coal  from  the  pit." 

It  was  aristocratic-looking  coal,  just  like  the  picked 
lumps  that  are  stacked  in  baskets  of  coal  agencies  at 
home  with  the  printed  legend  atop  "  only  23s  a  ton." 
But  there  was  no  picking  in  this  case.  The  great 
piled  banks  were  all  "equal  to  sample,"  and  beyond 
them  lay  piles  of  small,  broken,  "  smithy  "  coal.  "  The 
Company  doesn't  sell  to  the  public.  This  small,  broken 
coal  is  an  exception.  That  is  sold,  but  the  big  stuff  is 
for  the  engines  and  the  shops.  It  doesn't  cost  much  to 
get  out,  as  you  say ;  but  our  men  can  earn  as  much 
as  twelve  rupees  a  month.  Very  often  when  they've 
earned  enough  to  go  on  with  they  retire  from  the  con- 
cern till  they've  spent  their  money  and  then  come  on 
again.  It's  piece-work  and  they  are  improvident.  If 
some  of  them  only  lived  like  other  natives  they  would 
have  enough  to  buy  land  and  cows  with.  When  there's 
a  press  of  work  they  make  a  good  deal  by  overtime,  but 
they  don't  seem  to  keep  it.  You  should  see  Giridih 
Bazaar  on  a  Sunday  if  you  want  to  know  where  the 
money  goes.  About  ten  thousand  rupees  change  hands 
once  a  week  there.  If  you  want  to  get  at  the  number 
of  people  who  are  indirectly  dependent  or  profit  by  the 
E.  I.  K.  you'll  have  to  conduct  a  census  of  your  own. 
After  Sunday  is  over  the  men  generally  lie  off  on  Mon- 
day and  take  it  easy  on  Tuesday.  Then  they  work  hard 


THE   GIRIDIH   COAL-FIELDS          283 

for  the  next  four  days  and  make  it  up.  Of  course 
there's  nothing  in  the  wide  world  to  prevent  a  man 
from  resigning  and  going  away  to  wherever  he  came 
from  —  behind  those  hills  if  he's  a  Sonthal.  He  loses 
his  employment,  that's  all.  But  they  have  their  own 
point  of  honour.  A  man  hates  to  be  told  by  his  friends 
that  he  has  been  guilty  of  shirking.  And  now  we'll 
go  to  breakfast.  You  shall  be  '  pitted '  to-morrow  to  any 
depth  you  like." 


CHAPTER   II 

IN   THE    DEPTHS. 

"PITTED  to  any  extent  you  please."  The  only  diffi- 
culty was  for  Joseph  to  choose  his  pit.  Giridih  was 
full  of  them.  There  was  an  arch  in  the  side  of  a  little 
hill,  a  blackened  brick  arch  leading  into  thick  night. 
A  stationary  engine  was  hauling  a  procession  of  coal- 
laden  trucks  —  "tubs"  is  the  technical  word  —  out  of 
its  depths.  The  tubs  were  neither  pretty  nor  clean. 
"We  are  going  down  in  those  when  they  are  emptied. 
Put  on  your  helmet  and  keep  it  on,  and  keep  your  head 
down." 

There  is  nothing  mirth-provoking  in  going  down  a 
coal-mine  —  even  though  it  be  only  a  shallow  incline 
running  to  one  hundred  and  forty  feet  vertical  below  the 
earth.  "  Get  into  the  tub  and  lie  down.  Hang  it,  no ! 
This  is  not  a  railway  carriage  :  you  can't  see  the  country 
out  of  the  windows.  Lie  down  in  the  dust  and  don't  lift 
your  head.  Let  her  go !  " 

The  tubs  strain  on  the  wire  rope  and  slide  down  four- 
teen hundred  feet  of  incline,  at  first  through  a  chastened 
gloom,  and  then  through  darkness.  An  absurd  sentence 
from  a  trial  report  rings  in  the  head :  "  About  this 
time  prisoner  expressed  a  desire  for  the  consolations  of 
religion."  A  hand  with  a  reeking  flare-lamp  hangs  over 
the  edge  of  the  tub,  and  there  is  a  glimpse  of  a  black- 

284 


THE   GIRIDIH   COAL-FIELDS          285 

ened  hat  near  it,  for  those  accustomed  to  the  pits  have 
a  merry  trick  of  going  down  sitting  or  crouching  on  the 
coupling  of  the  rear  tub.  The  noise  is  deafening,  and 
the  roof  is  very  close  indeed.  The  tubs  bump,  and  the 
occupant  crouches  lovingly  in  the  coal  dust.  What 
would  happen  if  the  train  went  off  the  line  ?  The 
desire  for  the  "  consolations  of  religion  "  grows  keener 
and  keener  as  the  air  grows  closer  and  closer.  The 
tubs  stop  in  darkness  spangled  by  the  light  of  the 
flare-lamps  which  many  black  devils  carry.  Under- 
neath and  on  both  sides  is  the  greasy  blackness  of  the 
coal,  and,  above,  a  roof  of  grey  sandstone,  smooth  as 
the  flow  of  a  river  at  evening.  "  Now,  remember  that 
if  you  don't  keep  your  hat  on,  you'll  get  your  head 
broken,  because  you  will  forget  to  stoop.  If  you  hear 
any  tubs  coming  up  behind  you  step  off  .to  one  side. 
There's  a  tramway  under  your  feet :  be  careful  not  to 
trip  over  it." 

The  miner  has  a  gait  as  peculiarly  his  own  as 
Tommy's  measured  pace  or  the  bluejacket's  roll.  Big 
men  who  slouch  in  the  light  of  day  become  almost 
things  of  beauty  underground.  Their  foot  is  on  their 
native  heather ;  and  the  slouch  is  a  very  necessary  act 
of  homage  to  the  great  earth,  which  if  a  man  observe 
not,  he  shall  without  doubt  have  his  hat  —  bless  the 
man  who  invented  pith  hats !  —  grievously  cut. 

The  road  turns  and  winds  and  the  roof  becomes  lower, 
but  those  accursed  tubs  still  rattle  by  on  the  tramways. 
The  roof  throws  back  their  noises,  and  when  all  the 
place  is  full  of  a  grumbling  and  a  growling,  how  under 
earth  is  one  to  know  whence  danger  will  turn  up  next  ? 
The  air  brings  to  the  unacclimatised  a  singing  in  the 


286  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

ears,  a  hotness  of  the  eyeballs,  and  a  jumping  of  the 
heart.  "That's  because  the  pressure  here  is  different 
from  the  pressure  up  above.  It'll  wear  off  in  a  minute. 
We  don't  notice  it.  Wait  till  you  get  down  a  four-hun- 
dred-foot pit.  Then  your  ears  will  begin  to  sing,  if  you 
like." 

Most  people  know  the  One  Night  of  each  hot  weather 
—  that  still,  clouded  night  just  before  the  Rains  break, 
when  there  seems  to  be  no  more  breathable  air  under 
the  bowl  of  the  pitiless  skies,  and  all  the  weight  of  the 
silent,  dark  house  lies  on  the  chest  of  the  sleep-hunter. 
This  is  the  feeling  in  a  coal-mine  —  only  more  so — much 
more  so,  for  the  darkness  is  the  "  gross  darkness  of  the 
inner  sepulchre."  It  is  hard  to  see  which  is  the  black 
coal  and  which  the  passage  driven  through  it.  From 
far  away,  down  the  side  galleries,  comes  the  regular 
beat  of  the  pick  —  thick  and  muffled  as  the  beat  of  the 
labouring  heart.  "Six  men  to  a  gang,  and  they  aren't 
allowed  to  work  alone.  They  make  six-foot  drives 
through  the  coal  —  two  and  sometimes  three  men  work- 
ing together.  The  rest  clear  away  the  stuff  and  load  it 
into  the  tubs.  We  have  no  props  in  this  gallery  because 
we  have  a  roof  as  good  as  a  ceiling.  The  coal  lies  under 
the  sandstone  here.  It's  beautiful  sandstone."  It  was 
beautiful  sandstone  —  as  hard  as  a  billiard  table  and 
devoid  of  any  nasty  little  bumps  and  jags. 

There  was  a  roaring  down  one  road  —  the  roaring  of 
infernal  fires.  This  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  hear  in 
the  dark.  It  is  too  suggestive.  "  That's  our  ventilating 
shaft.  Can't  you  feel  the  air  getting  brisker  ?  Come 
and  look." 

Imagine  a  great  iron-bound  crate   of   burning  coal, 


THE   GIKIDIH  COAL-FIELDS          287 

hanging  over  a  gulf  of  darkness  faintly  showing  the 
brickwork  of  the  base  of  a  chimney.  "  We're  at  the 
bottom  of  the  shaft.  That  fire  makes  a  draught  that 
sucks  up  the  foul  air  from  the  bottom  of  the  pit. 
There's  another  down-draw  shaft  in  another  part  of 
the  mine  where  the  clean  air  comes  in.  We  aren't 
going  to  set  the  mines  on  fire.  There's  an  earth  and 
brick  floor  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit;  the  crate  hangs 
over.  It  isn't  so  deep  as  you  think."  Then  a  devil  — 
a  naked  devil  —  came  in  with  a  pitchfork  and  fed  the 
spouting  flames.  This  was  perfectly  in  keeping  with 
the  landscape. 

More  trucks,  more  muffled  noises,  more  darkness  made 
visible,  and  more  devils  —  male  and  female  —  coming 
out  of  darkness  and  vanishing.  Then  a  picture  to  be 
remembered.  A  great  Hall  of  Eblis,  twenty  feet  from 
inky-black  floor  to  grey  roof,  upheld  by  huge  pillars  of 
shining  coal,  and  filled  with  flitting  and  passing  devils. 
On  a  shattered  pillar  near  the  roof  stood  a  naked  man, 
his  flesh  olive-coloured  in  the  light  of  the  lamps,  hewing 
down  a  mass  of  coal  that  still  clove  to  the  roof.  Behind 
him  was  the  wall  of  darkness,  and  when  the  lamps 
shifted  he  disappeared  like  a  ghost.  The  devils  were 
shouting  directions,  and  the  man  howled  in  reply,  rest- 
ing on  his  pick  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow. 
When  he  smote  the  coal  crushed  and  slid  and  rumbled 
from  the  darkness  into  the  darkness,  and  the  devils 
cried  Shabash  I  The  man  stood  erect  like  a  bronze 
statue,  he  twisted  and  bent  himself  like  a  Japanese 
grotesque,  and  anon  threw  himself  on  his  side  after  the 
manner  of  the  dying  gladiator.  Then  spoke  the  still 
small  voice  of  fact :  "  A  first-class  workman  if  he  would 


288  FKOM   SEA   TO   SEA 

only  stick  to  it.  But  as  soon  as  lie  makes  a  little  money 
he  lies  off  and  spends  it.  That's  the  last  of  a  pillar  that 
we've  knocked  out.  See  here.  These  pillars  of  coal  are 
square,  about  thirty  feet  each  way.  As  you  can  see,  we 
make  the  pillar  first  by  cutting  out  all  the  coal  between. 
Then  we  drive  two  square  tunnels,  about  seven  feet  wide, 
through  and  across  the  pillar,  propping  it  with  balks. 
There's  one  fresh  cut." 

Two  tunnels  crossing  at  right  angles  had  been  driven 
through  a  pillar  which  in  its  under-cut  condition  seemed 
like  the  rough  draft  of  a  statue  for  an  elephant.  "  When 
the  pillar  stands  only  on  four  legs  we  chip  away  one  leg 
at  a  time  from  a  square  to  an  hour-glass  shape,  and  then 
either  the  whole  of  the  pillar  crashes  down  from  the 
roof  or  else  a  quarter  or  a  half.  If  the  coal  lies  against 
the  sandstones  it  carries  away  clear,  but  in  some  places 
it  brings  down  stone  and  rubbish  with  it.  The  chipped- 
away  legs  of  the  pillars  are  called  stooks." 

"  Who  has  to  make  the  last  cut  that  breaks  a  leg 
through  ?  " 

"  Oh !  Englishmen  of  sorts.  We  can't  trust  natives  for 
the  job  unless  it's  very  easy.  The  natives  take  kindly  to 
the  pillar-work  though.  They  are  paid  just  as  much  for 
their  coal  as  though  they  had  hewed  it  out  of  the  solid. 
Of  course  we  take  very  good  care  to  see  that  the  roof 
doesn't  come  in  on  us.  You  would  never  understand 
how  and  why  we  prop  our  roofs  with  those  piles  of 
sleepers.  Anyway,  you  can  see  that  we  cannot  take  out 
a  whole  line  of  pillars.  We  work  'em  en  echelon,  and 
those  big  beams  you  see  running  from  floor  to  roof  are 
our  indicators.  They  show  when  the  roof  is  going  to 
give.  Oh!  dear  no,  there's  no  dramatic  effect  about  it. 


THE   GIKIDIH   COAL-FIELDS          289 

No  splash,  you  know.  Our  roofs  give  plenty  of  warning 
by  cracking  and  then  collapse  slowly.  The  parts  of  the 
work  that  we  have  cleared  out  and  allowed  to  fall  in 
are  called  goafs.  You're  on  the  edge  of  a  goaf  now. 
All  that  darkness  there  marks  the  limit  of  the  mine. 
We  have  worked  that  out  piece-meal,  and  the  props  are 
gone  and  the  place  is  down.  The  roof  of  any  pillar- 
working  is  tested  every  morning  by  tapping  —  pretty 
hard  tapping." 

"Hi  yi!  yi!"  shout  all  the  devils  in  chorus,  and  the 
Hall  of  Eblis  is  full  of  rolling  sound.  The  olive  man 
has  brought  down  an  avalanche  of  coal.  "  It  is  a  sight 
to  see  the  whole  of  one  of  the  pillars  come  away.  They 
make  an  awful  noise.  It  would  startle  you  out  of  your 
wits.  But  there's  not  an  atom  of  risk." 

("Not  an  atom  of  risk."  Oh,  genial  and  courteous 
host,  when  you  turned  up  next  day  blacker  than  any 
sweep  that  ever  swept,  with  a  neat,  half-inch  gash  on 
your  forehead  —  won  by  cutting  a  "  stook  "  and  getting 
caught  by  a  bounding  coal-knob  —  how  long  and  ear- 
nestly did  you  endeavour  to  show  that  "  stook-cutting " 
was  an  employment  as  harmless  and  unexciting  as 
wool-samplering !) 

"Our  ways  are  rather  primitive,  but  they're  cheap, 
and  safe  as  houses.  Doms  and  Bauris,  Kols  and  Beldars, 
don't  understand  refinements  in  mining.  They'd  startle 
an  English  pit  where  there  was  fire-damp.  Do  you  know 
it's  a  solemn  fact  that  if  you  drop  a  Davy  lamp  or  snatch 
it  quickly  you  can  blow  a  whole  English  pit  inside  out 
with  all  the  miners  ?  Good  for  us  that  we  don't  know 
what  fire-damp  is  here.  We  can  use  flare-lamps." 

After  the  first  feeling  of  awe  and  wonder  is  worn 
VOL.  zi  —  u 


290  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

out,  a  mine  becomes  monotonous.  There  is  only  the 
humming,  palpitating  darkness,  the  rumble  of  the  tubs, 
and  the  endless  procession  of  galleries  to  arrest  the 
attention.  And  one  pit  to  the  uninitiated  is  as  like  to 
another  as  two  peas.  Tell  a  miner  this  and  he  laughs  — 
slowly  and  softly.  To  him  the  pits  have  each  distinct 
personalities,  and  each  must  be  dealt  with  differently. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    PERILS    OF    THE   PITS. 

AN  engineer,  who  has  built  a  bridge,  can  strike  you 
nearly  dead  with  professional  facts ;  the  captain  of  a 
seventy-horse-power  Ganges  river-steamer  can,  in  one 
hour,  tell  legends  of  the  Sandheads  and  the  James 
and  Mary  shoal  sufficient  to  fill  half  a  Pioneer,  but  a 
couple  of  days  spent  on,  above,  and  in  a  coal-mine  yields 
more  mixed  information  than  two  engineers  and  three 
captains.  It  is  hopeless  to  pretend  to  understand  it 
all. 

When  your  host  says,  "Ah,  such  an  one  is  a  thunder- 
ing good  fault-reader ! "  you  smile  hazily,  and  by  way  of 
keeping  up  the  conversation,  adventure  on  the  statement 
that  fault-reading  and  palmistry  are  very  popular  amuse- 
ments. Then  men  explain. 

Every  one  knows  that  coal-strata,  in  common  with 
women,  horses,  and  official  superiors,  have  "  faults " 
caused  by  some  colic  of  the  earth  in  the  days  when 
things  were  settling  into  their  places.  A  coal-seam  is 
suddenly  sliced  off  as  a  pencil  is  cut  through  with  one 
slanting  blow  of  the  penknife,  and  one-half  is  either 
pushed  up  or  pushed  down  any  number  of  feet.  The 
miners  work  the  seam  till  they  come  to  this  break-off, 
and  then  call  for  an  expert  to  "  read  the  fault."  It  is 
sometimes  very  hard  to  discover  whether  the  sliced-off 

291 


292  FBOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

beam  has  gone  up  or  down.  Theoretically,  the  end  of 
the  broken  piece  should  show  the  direction.  Practi- 
cally its  indications  are  not  always  clear.  Then  a  good 
"fault-reader,"  who  must  more  than  know  geology,  is 
a  useful  man,  and  is  much  prized ;  for  the  Giridih  fields 
are  full  of  faults  and  "dykes."  Tongues  of  what  was 
once  molten  lava  thrust  themselves  sheer  into  the  coal, 
and  the  disgusted  miner  finds  that  for  about  twenty 
feet  on  each  side  of  the  tongue  all  coal  has  been  burnt 
away. 

The  head  of  the  mine  is  supposed  to  foresee  these 
things  and  more.  He  can  tell  you,  without  looking  at 
the  map,  what  is  the  geological  formation  of  any  thou- 
sand square  miles  of  India;  he  knows  as  much  about 
brickwork  and  the  building  of  houses,  arches,  and  shafts 
as  an  average  P.  W.  D.  man ;  he  has  not  only  to  know 
the  intestines  of  a  pumping  or  winding  engine,  but  must 
be  able  to  take  them  to  pieces  with  his  own  hands,  indi- 
cate on  the  spot  such  parts  as  need  repair,  and  make 
drawings  of  anything  that  requires  renewal;  he  knows 
how  to  lay  out  and  build  railways  with  a  grade  of  one 
in  twenty-seven ;  he  has  to  carry  in  his  head  all  the 
signals  and  points  between  and  over  which  his  loco- 
motive engines  work ;  he  must  be  an  electrician  capable 
of  controlling  the  apparatus  that  fires  the  dynamite 
charges  in  the  -pits,  and  must  thoroughly  understand 
boring  operations  with  thousand-foot  drills.  He  must 
know  by  name,  at  least,  one  thousand  of  the  men  on 
the  works,  and  must  fluently  speak  the  vernaculars  of 
the  low  castes.  If  he  has  Sonthali,  which  is  more  elab- 
orate than  Greek,  so  much  the  better  for  him.  He  must 
know  how  to  handle  men  of  all  grades,  and,  while  hold- 


THE   GIKIDIH   COAL-FIELDS          293 

ing  himself  aloof,  must  possess  sufficient  grip  of  the 
men's  private  lives  to  be  able  to  see  at  once  the  merits 
of  a  charge  of  attempted  abduction  preferred  by  a 
clucking,  croaking  Kol  against  a  fluent  English-speaking 
Brahmin.  For  he  is  literally  the  Light  of  Justice,  and 
to  him  the  injured  husband  and  the  wrathful  father 
look  for  redress.  He  must  be  on  the  spot  and  take  all 
responsibility  when  any  specially  risky  job  is  under  way 
in  the  pit,  and  he  can  claim  no  single  hour  of  the  day 
or  the  night  for  his  own.  From  eight  in  the  morning 
till  one  in  the  afternoon  he  is  coated  with  coal-dust 
and  oil.  From  one  till  eight  in  the  evening  he  has 
office  work.  After  eight  o'clock  he  is  free  to  attend  to 
anything  that  he  may  be  wanted  for. 

This  is  a  soberly  drawn  picture  of  a  life  that  Sahibs 
on  the  mines  actually  enjoy.  They  are  spared  all  pri- 
vate socio-official  worry,  for  the  Company,  in  its  mixture 
of  State  and  private  interest,  is  as  perfectly  cold-blooded 
and  devoid  of  bias  as  any  great  Department  of  the  Em- 
pire. If  certain  things  be  done,  well  and  good.  If 
certain  things  be  not  done  the  defaulter  goes,  and  his 
place  is  filled  by  another.  The  conditions  of  service  are 
graven  on  stone.  There  may  be  generosity;  there  un- 
doubtedly is  justice,  but  above  all,  there  is  freedom 
within  broad  limits.  No  irrepressible  shareholder  crip- 
ples the  executive  arm  with  suggestions  and  restric- 
tions, and  no  private  piques  turn  men's  blood  to  gall 
within  them.  They  work  like  horses  and  are  happy. 

When  he  can  snatch  a  free  hour,  the  grimy,  sweat- 
ing, cardigan-jacketed,  ammunition-booted,  pick-bearing 
ruffian  turns  into  a  well-kept  English  gentleman,  who 
plays  a  good  game  of  billiards,  and  has  a  batch  of  new 


294  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

books  from  England  every  week.  The  change  is  sud- 
den, but  in  Giridih  nothing  is  startling.  It  is  right 
and  natural  that  a  man  should  be  alternately  Valentine 
and  Orson,  specially  Orson.  It  is  right  and  natural  to 
drive — always  behind  a  mad  horse — away  and  away 
towards  the  lonely  hills  till  the  flaming  coke  ovens 
become  glow-worms  on  the  dark  horizon,  and  in  the  wil- 
derness to  find  a  lovely  English  maiden  teaching  squat, 
filthy  Sonthal  girls  how  to  become  Christians.  Nothing 
is  strange  in  Giridih,  and  the  stories  of  the  pits,  the 
raffle  of  conversation  that  a  man  picks  up  as  he  passes, 
are  quite  in  keeping  with  the  place.  Thanks  to  the  law, 
which  enacts  that  an  Englishman  must  look  after  the 
native  miners,  and  if  any  one  be  killed  must  explain 
satisfactorily  that  the  accident  was  not  due  to  prevent- 
able causes,  the  death-roll  is  kept  astoundingly  low.  In 
one  "bad"  half-year,  six  men  out  of  the  five  thousand 
were  killed,  in  another  four,  and  in  another  none  at  all. 
As  has  been  said  before,  a  big  accident  would  scare  off 
the  workers,  for,  in  spite  of  the  age  of  the  mines  — 
nearly  thirty  years  —  the  hereditary  pitman  has  not  yet 
been  evolved.  But  to  small  accidents  the  men  are 
orientally  apathetic.  Eead  of  a  death  among  the  five 
thousand :  — 

A  gang  has  been  ordered  to  cut  clay  for  the  luting  of 
the  coke  furnaces.  The  clay  is  piled  in  a  huge  bank 
in  the  open  sunlight.  A  coolie  hacks  and  hacks  till  he 
has  hewn  out  a  small  cave  with  twenty  foot  of  clay 
above  him.  Why  should  he  trouble  to  climb  up  the 
bank  and  bring  down  the  eave  of  the  cave  ?  It  is  easier 
to  cut  in.  The  Sirdar  of  the  gang  is  watching  round 
the  shoulder  of  the  bank.  The  coolie  cuts  lazily  as  he 


THE   GIBIDIH   COAL-FIELDS          295 

stands.  Sunday  is  very  near,  and  he  will  get  gloriously 
drunk  in  Giridih  Bazaar  with  his  week's  earnings.  He 
digs  his  own  grave  stroke  by  stroke,  for  he  has  not  sense 
enough  to  see  that  undercut  clay  is  dangerous.  He 
is  a  Sonthal  from  the  hills.  There  is  a  smash  and  a 
dull  thud,  and  his  grave  has  shut  down  upon  him  in  an 
avalanche  of  heavy-caked  clay. 

The  Sirdar  calls  to  the  Babu  of  the  Ovens,  and  with 
the  promptitude  of  his  race  the  Babu  loses  his  head. 
He  runs  puffily,  without  giving  orders,  anywhere,  every- 
where. Finally  he  runs  to  the  Sahib's  house.  The 
Sahib  is  at  the  other  end  of  the  collieries.  He  runs 
back.  The  Sahib  has  gone  home  to  wash.  Then  his 
indiscretion  strikes  him.  He  should  have  sent  run- 
ners—  fleet-footed  boys  from  the  coal-screening  gangs. 
He  sends  them  and  they  fly.  One  catches  the  Sahib  just 
changed  after  his  bath.  "There  is  a  man  dead  at  such 
a  place"  —  he  gasps,  omitting  to  say  whether  it  is  a 
surface  or  a  pit  accident.  On  goes  the  grimy  pit-kit, 
and  in  three  minutes  the  Sahib's  dogcart  is  flying  to  the 
place  indicated. 

They  have  dug  out  the  Sonthal.  His  head  is  smashed 
in,  spine  and  breastbone  are  broken,  and  the  gang-Sirdar, 
bowing  double,  throws  the  blame  of  the  accident  on 
the  poor,  shapeless,  battered  dead.  "  I  had  warned  him, 
but  he  would  not  listen !  Tivice  I  warned  him !  These 
men  are  witnesses." 

The  Babu  is  shaking  like  a  jelly.  "Oh,  sar,  I  have 
never  seen  a  man  killed  before !  Look  at  that  eye,  sar ! 
I  should  have  sent  runners.  I  ran  everywhere !  I  ran 
to  your  house.  You  were  not  in.  I  was  running  for 
hours.  It  was  not  my  fault !  It  was  the  fault  of  the 


296  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

gang-Sirdar."  He  wrings  his  hands  and  gurgles.  The 
best  of  accountants,  but  the  poorest  of  coroners  is  he. 
No  need  to  ask  how  the  accident  happened.  No  need 
to  listen  to  the  Sirdar  and  his  "witnesses."  The  Son- 
thai  had  been  a  fool,  but  it  was  the  Sirdar's  business  to 
protect  him  against  his  own  folly.  "  Has  he  any  people 
here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  his  rukni,  —  his  kept-woman,  —  and  his  sister's 
brother-in-law.  His  home  is  far-off." 

The  sister's  brother-in-law  breaks  through  the  crowd 
howling  for  vengeance  on  the  Sirdar.  He  will  send  for 
the  police,  he  will  have  the  price  of  his  brother's  blood 
full  tale.  The  windmill  arms  and  the  angry  eyes  fall, 
for  the  Sahib  is  making  the  report  of  the  death. 

"Will  the  Government  give  me  pensin?  I  am  his 
wife,"  a  woman  clamours,  stamping  her  pewter-ankleted 
feet.  "He  was  killed  in  your  service.  Where  is  his 
pensin  9  I  am  his  wife." 

"  You  lie !  You're  his  rukni.  Keep  quiet !  Go !  The 
pension  conies  to  us" 

The  sister's  brother-in-law  is  not  a  refined  man,  but 
the  rukni  is  his  match.  They  are  silenced.  The  Sahib 
takes  the  report,  and  the  body  is  borne  away.  Before 
to-morrow's  sun  rises  the  gang-Sirdar  may  find  himself 
a  simple  "  surface-coolie,"  earning  nine  pice  a  day ;  and 
in  a  week  some  Sonthal  woman  behind  the  hills  may 
discover  that  she  is  entitled  to  draw  monthly  great 
wealth  from  the  coffers  of  the  Sirkar.  But  this  will 
not  happen  if  the  sister's  brother-in-law  can  prevent  it. 
He  goes  off  swearing  at  the  rukni. 

In  the  meantime,  what  have  the  rest  of  the  dead 
man's  gang  been  doing  ?  They  have,  if  you  please,  abat- 


THE   GIRIDIH  COAL-EIELDS          297 

ing  not  one  stroke,  dug  out  all  the  clay,  and  would  have 
it  verified.  They  have  seen  their  comrade  die.  He  is 
dead.  Bus!  Will  the  Sirdar  take  the  tale  of  clay? 
And  yet,  were  twenty  men  to  be  crushed  by  their  own 
carelessness  in  the  pit,  these  same  impassive  workers 
would  scatter  like  panic-stricken  horses. 

Turning  from  this  sketch,  let  us  set  in  order  a  few 
stories  of  the  pits.  In  some  of  the  mines  the  coal  is 
blasted  out  by  the  dynamite  which  is  fired  by  electricity 
from  a  battery  on  the  surface.  Two  men  place  the 
charges,  and  then  signal  to  be  drawn  up  in  the  cage 
which  hangs  in  the  pit-eye.  Once  two  natives  were 
intrusted  with  the  job.  They  performed  their  parts 
beautifully  till  the  end,  when  the  vaster  idiot  of  the 
two  scrambled  into  the  cage,  gave  signal,  and  was  hauled 
up  before  his  friend  could  follow. 

Thirty  or  forty  yards  up  the  shaft  all  possible  danger 
for  those  in  the  cage  was  over,  and  the  charge  was  ac- 
cordingly exploded.  Then  it  occurred  to  the  man  in  the 
cage  that  his  friend  stood  a  very  good  chance  of  being, 
by  this  time,  riven  to  pieces  and  choked. 

But  the  friend  was  wise  in  his  generation.  He  had 
missed  the  cage,  but  found  a  coal-tub  —  one  of  the  little 
iron  trucks  —  and  turning  this  upside  down,  crawled 
into  it.  When  the  charge  went  off,  his  shelter  was 
battered  in  so  much,  that  men  had  to  hack  him  out,  for 
the  tub  had  made,  as  it  were,  a  tinned  sardine  of  its 
occupant.  He  was  absolutely  unhurt,  but  for  his  feel- 
ings. On  reaching  the  pit-bank  his  first  words  were, 
"I  do  not  desire  to  go  down  to  the  pit  with  that  man 
any  more."  His  wish  had  been  already  gratified,  for 
"that  man"  had  fled.  Later  on,  the  story  goes,  when 


298  FEOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

"that  man"  found  that  the  guilt  of  murder  was  not  at 
his  door,  he  returned,  and  was  made  a  mere  surface-coolie, 
and  his  brothers  jeered  at  him  as  they  passed  to  their 
better-paid  occupation. 

Occasionally  there  are  mild  cyclones  in  the  pits.  An 
old  working,  perhaps  a  mile  away,  will  collapse :  a  whole 
gallery  sinking  bodily.  Then  the  displaced  air  rushes 
through  the  inhabited  mine,  and,  to  quote  their  own 
expression,  blows  the  pitmen  about  "like  dry  leaves." 
Few  things  are  more  amusing  than  the  spectacle  of  a 
burly  Tyneside  foreman  who,  failing  to  dodge  round 
a  corner  in  time,  is  "  put  down  "  by  the  wind,  sitting- 
fashion,  on  a  knobby  lump  of  coal. 

But  most  impressive  of  all  is  a  tale  they  tell  of  a 
fire  in  a  pit  many  years  ago.  The  coal  caught  light. 
They  had  to  send  earth  and  bricks  down  the  shaft  and 
build  great  dams  across  the  galleries  to  choke  the  fire. 
Imagine  the  scene,  a  few  hundred  feet  underground,  with 
the  air  growing  hotter  and  hotter  each  moment,  and  the 
carbonic  acid  gas  trickling  through  the  dams.  After  a 
time  the  rough  dams  gaped,  and  the  gas  poured  in  afresh, 
and  the  Englishmen  went  down  and  leeped  the  cracks 
between  roof  and  dam-sill  with  anything  they  could 
get.  Coolies  fainted,  and  had  to  be  taken  away,  but  no 
one  died,  and  behind  the  first  dams  they  built  great 
masonry  ones,  and  bested  that  fire;  though  for  a  long 
time  afterwards,  whenever  they  pumped  water  into  it, 
the  steam,  would  puff  out  from  crevices  in  the  ground 
above. 

It  is  a  queer  life  that  they  lead,  these  men  of  the  coal- 
fields, and  a  "big"  life  to  boot.  To  describe  one-half 
of  their  labours  would  need  a  week  at  the  least,  and 


THE   GIEIDIH   COAL-FIELDS          299 

would  be  incomplete  then.  "If  you  want  to  see  any- 
thing," they  say,  "  you  should  go  over  to  the  Baragunda 
copper-mines  ;  you  should  look  at  the  Barakar  ironworks  ; 
you  should  see  our  boring  operations  five  miles  away ; 
you  should  see  how  we  sink  pits ;  you  should,  above  all, 
see  Giridih  Bazaar  on  a  Sunday.  Why,  you  haven't  seen 
anything.  There's  no  end  of  a  South al  Mission  here- 
abouts. All  the  little  dev  —  dears  have  gone  on  a  picnic. 
Wait  till  they  come  back,  and  see  'em  learning  to  read." 
Alas!  one  cannot  wait.  At  the  most  one  can  but 
thrust  an  impertinent  pen  skin-deep  into  matters  only 
properly  understood  by  specialists. 


ON  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  forty  miles  below  Benares 
as  the  crow  flies,  stands  the  Ghazipur  Factory,  an  opium 
mint  as  it  were,  whence  issue  the  precious  cakes  that 
are  to  replenish  the  coffers  of  the  Indian  Government. 
The  busy  season  is  setting  in,  for  with  April  the  opium 
comes  in  from  the  districts  after  having  run  the  gaunt- 
let of  the  district  officers  of  the  Opium  Department,  who 
will  pass  it  as  fit  for  use.  Then  the  really  serious  work 
begins,  under  a  roasting  sun.  The  opium  arrives  by 
chattans,  regiments  of  one  hundred  jars,  each  holding 
one  maund,  and  each  packed  in  a  basket  and  sealed  atop. 
The  district  officer  submits  forms  —  never  was  such  a 
place  for  forms  as  the  Ghazipur  Factory  —  showing  the 
quality  and  weight  of  each  pot,  and  with  the  jars  comes 
a  person  responsible  for  the  safe  carriage  of  the  string, 
their  delivery,  and  their  virginity.  If  any  pots  are 
broken  or  tampered  with,  an  unfortunate  individual 
called  the  import-officer,  and  appointed  to  work  like  a 
horse  from  dawn  till  dewy  eve,  must  examine  the  man 
in  charge  of  the  challan  and  reduce  his  statement  to 
writing.  Fancy  getting  any  native  to  explain  how  a 
jar  has  been  smashed !  But  the  Perfect  Flower  is  about 
as  valuable  as  silver. 

Then  all  the  pots  have  to  be  weighed,  and  the 
weight  of  each  pot  is  recorded  on  the  pot,  in  a  book, 

301 


302  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  goodness  knows  where  else,  and  every  one  has  to 
sign  certificates  that  the  weighing  is  correct.  The  pots 
have  been  weighed  once  in  the  district  and  once  in  the 
factory.  None  the  less  a  certain  number  of  them  are 
taken  at  random  and  weighed  afresh  before  they  are 
opened.  This  is  only  the  beginning  of  the  long  series  of 
checks.  Then  the  testing  begins.  Every  single  pot  has 
to  be  tested  for  quality.  A  native,  called  the  purkhea, 
drives  his  fist  into  the  opium,  rubs  and  smells  it,  and 
calls  out  the  class  for  the  benefit  of  the  opium  ex- 
aminer. A  sample  picked  between  finger  and  thumb 
is  thrown  into  a  jar,  and  if  the  opium  examiner  thinks 
the  purkhea  has  said  sooth,  the  class  of  that  jar  is 
marked  in  chalk,  and  everything  is  entered  in  a  book. 
Every  ten  samples  are  put  in  a  locked  box  with  dupli- 
cate keys,  and  sent  over  to  the  laboratory  for  assay. 
With  the  tenth  boxful  —  and  this  marks  the  end  of  the 
challan  of  a  hundred  jars  —  the  Englishman  in  charge 
of  the  testing  signs  the  test-paper,  and  enters  the  name 
of  the  native  tester  and  sends  it  over  to  the  labora- 
tory. For  convenience'  sake,  it  may  be  as  well  to  say 
that,  unless  distinctly  stated  to  the  contrary,  every 
single  thing  in  Ghazipur  is  locked,  and  every  opera- 
tion is  conducted  under  more  than  police  supervision. 
In  the  laboratory  each  set  of  ten  samples  is  thoroughly 
mixed  by  hand ;  a  quarter-ounce  lump  is  then  tested  for 
starch  adulteration  by  iodine,  which  turns  the  decoction 
blue,  and,  if  necessary,  for  gum  adulteration  by  alcohol, 
which  makes  the  decoction  filmy.  If  adulteration  be 
shown,  all  the  ten  pots  of  that  set  are  tested  separately 
till  the  sinful  pot  is  discovered.  Over  and  above  this 
test,  three  samples  of  one  hundred  grains  each  are 


IN  AN   OPIUM  FACTOKY  303 

taken  from  the  mixed  set  of  ten  samples,  dried  on  a 
steam  table,  and  then  weighed  for  consistence.  The 
result  is  written  down  in  a  ten-columned  form  in  the 
assay  register,  and  by  the  mean  result  are  those  ten 
pots  paid  for.  This,  after  everything  has  been  clone 
in  duplicate  and  countersigned,  completes  the  test  and 
assay.  If  a  district  officer  has  classed  the  opium  in  a 
glaringly  wrong  way,  he  is  thus  caught  and  reminded  of 
his  error.  No  one  trusts  any  one  in  Ghazipur.  They 
are  always  weighing,  testing,  and  assaying. 
Before  the  opium  can  be  used  it  must  be  "alligated" 
in  big  vats.  The  pots  are  emptied  into  these,  and  special 
care  is  taken  that  none  of  the  drug  sticks  to  the  hands 
of  the  coolies.  Opium  has  a  knack  of  doing  this, 
and  therefore  coolies  are  searched  at  most  inopportune 
moments.  There  are  a  good  many  Mahometans  in 
Ghazipur,  and  they  would  all  like  a  little  opium.  The 
pots  after  emptying  are  smashed  up  and  scraped,  and 
heaved  down  the  steep  river-bank  of  the  factory,  where 
they  help  to  keep  the  Ganges  in  its  place,  so  many  are 
they  and  the  little  earthen  bowls  in  which  the  opium 
cakes  are  made.  People  are  forbidden  to  wander  about 
the  river-front  of  the  factory  in  search  of  remnants 
of  opium  on  the  shards.  There  are  no  remnants,  but 
people  will  not  credit  this.  After  vatting,  the  big  vats, 
holding  from  one  to  three  thousand  maunds,  are  probed 
with  test-rods,  and  the  samples  are  treated  just  like  the 
samples  of  the  challans,  everybody  writing  everything  in 
duplicate  and  signing  it.  Having  secured  the  mean  con- 
sistence of  each  vat,  the  requisite  quantity  of  each  blend 
is  weighed  out,  thrown  into  an  alligating  vat,  of  250 
maunds,  and  worked  up  by  the  feet  of  coolies. 


304  FEOM  SEA  TO   SEA 

This  completes  the  working  of  the  opium.  It  is  now 
ready  to  be  made  into  cakes  after  a  final  assay.  Man 
has  done  nothing  to  improve  it  since  it  streaked  the 
capsule  of  the  poppy  —  this  mysterious  drug.  April, 
May,  and  June  are  the  months  for  receiving  and  manu- 
facturing opium,  and  in  the  winter  months  comes  the 
packing  and  the  despatch. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  cold  weather  Ghazipur  holds, 
locked  up,  a  trifle,  say,  of  three  and  a  half  million  ster- 
ling in  opium.  Now,  there  may  be  only  a  paltry  three- 
quarters  of  a  million  on  hand,  and  that  is  going  out  at 
the  rate  per  diem  of  one  Viceroy's  salary  for  two  and  a 
half  years. 

There  are  ranges  and  ranges  of  gigantic  godowns,  huge 
barns  that  can  hold  over  half  a  million  pounds'  worth  of 
opium.  There  are  acres  of  bricked  floor,  regiments  on 
regiments  of  chests;  and  yet  more  godowns  and  more 
godowns.  The  heart  of  the  whole  is  the  laboratory, 
which  is  full  of  the  sick  faint  smell  of  an  opium-joint 
where  they  sell  chandu.  This  makes  Ghazipur  indig- 
nant. "That's  the  smell  of  pure  opium.  We  don't 
need  chandu  here.  You  don't  know  what  real  opium 
smells  like.  Chandu-khana  indeed!  That's  refined 
opium  under  treatment  for  morphia,  and  cocaine,  and 
perhaps  narcotine."  "Very  well,  let's  see  some  of  the 
real  opium  made  for  the  China  market."  "We  shan't 
be  making  any  for  another  six  weeks  at  earliest;  but 
we  can  show  you  one  cake  made,  and  you  must  imag- 
ine two  hundred  and  fifty  men  making  'em  as  hard  as 
they  can  —  one  every  four  minutes." 

A  Sirdar  of  cake-makers  is  called,  and  appears  with 
a  miniature  wash-board,  on  which  he  sets  a  little  square 


IN  AN   OPIUM  FACTORY  305 

box  of  dark  wood,  a  tin  cup,  an  earthen  bowl,  and  a 
mass  of  poppy-petal  cakes.  A  larger  earthen  bowl  holds 
what  looks  like  bad  Cape  tobacco. 

"What's  that?" 

"Trash  —  dried  poppy-leaves,  not  petals,  broken  up 
and  used  for  packing  the  cakes  in.  You'll  see  pres- 
ently." The  cake-maker  sits  down  and  receives  a  lump 
of  opium,  weighed  out,  of  one  seer  seven  chittacks  and 
a  half,  neither  more  nor  less.  "That's  pure  opium  of 
seventy  consistence."  Every  allowance  is  weighed. 

"What  are  they  weighing  that  brown  water  for?  " 

"  That's  lewa —  thin  opium  at  fifty  consistence.  It's 
the  paste.  He  gets  four  chittacks  and  a  half  of  it." 
"And  do  they  weigh  the  petal-cakes?"  "Of  course." 
The  Sirdar  takes  a  brass  hemispherical  cup  and  wets 
it  with  a  rag.  Then  he  tears  a  petal-cake,  which  re- 
sembles a  pancake,  across  so  that  it  fits  into  the  cup 
without  a  wrinkle,  and  pastes  it  with  the  thin  opium, 
the  lewa.  After  this  his  actions  become  incomprehen- 
sible, but  there  is  evidently  a  deep  method  in  them. 
Pancake  after  pancake  is  torn  across,  dressed  with  lewa, 
and  pressed  down  into  the  cup ;  the  fringes  hanging  over 
the  edge  of  the  bowl.  He  takes  half -pancakes  and  fixes 
them  skilfully,  picking  now  first-class  and  now  second- 
class  ones,  for  there  are  three  kinds  of  them.  Every- 
thing is  gummed  into  everything  else  with  the  lewa,  and 
he  presses  all  down  by  twisting  his  wrists  inside  the 
bowl  till  the  bowl  is  lined  half  an  inch  deep  with  them, 
and  they  all  glisten  with  the  greasy  lewa.  He  now 
takes  up  an  ungummed  pancake  and  fits  in  carefully  all 
round.  The  opium  is  dropped  tenderly  upon  this,  and 
a  curious  washing  motion  of  the  hand  follows.  The 

VOL.  II  —  X 


306  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

mass  of  opium  is  drawn  up  into  a  cone  as  one  by  one 
the  Sirdar  picks  up  the  overlapping  portions  of  the 
cakes  that  hung  outside  the  bowl  and  plasters  them 
against  the  drug  for  an  outside  coat.  He  tucks  in  the 
top  of  the  cone  with  his  thumbs,  brings  the  fringe  of 
cake  over  to  close  the  opening,  and  pastes  fresh  leaves 
upon  all.  The  cone  has  now  taken  a  spherical  shape, 
and  he  gives  it  the  finishing  touch  by  gumming  a  large 
chupatti,  one  of  the  "moon"  kind,  set  aside  from  the 
first,  on  the  top,  so  deftly  that  no  wrinkle  is  visible. 
The  cake  is  now  complete,  and  all  the  Celestials  of  the 
Middle  Kingdom  shall  not  be  able  to  disprove  that  it 
weighs  two  seers  one  and  three-quarter  chittacks,  with 
a  play  of  half  a  chittack  for  the  personal  equation. 

The  Sirdar  takes  it  up  and  rubs  it  in  the  branlike 
poppy  trash  of  the  big  bowl,  so  that  two-thirds  of  it  are 
powdered  with  the  trash  and  one-third  is  fair  and  shiny 
poppy-petal.  "  That  is  the  difference  between  a  Ghazipur 
and  a  Patna  cake.  Our  cakes  have  always  an  unpow- 
dered  head.  The  Patna  ones  are  rolled  in  trash  all  over. 
You  can  tell  them  anywhere  by  that  mark.  Now  we'll 
cut  this  one  open  and  you  can  see  how  a  section  looks." 
One-half  of  an  inch,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  is  the  thickness 
of  the  shell  all  round  the  cake,  and  even  in  this  short 
time  so  firmly  has  the  lewa  set  that  any  attempt  at 
sundering  the  skin  is  followed  by  the  rending  of  the 
poppy-petals  that  compose  the  chupatti.  "!N"ow  you've 
seen  in  detail  what  a  cake  is  made  of  —  that  is  to  say, 
pure  opium  70  consistence,  poppy-petal  pancakes,  lewa 
of  52.50  consistence,  and  a  powdering  of  poppy  trash." 
"But  why  are  you  so  particular  about  the  shell?" 
"Because  of  the  China  market.  The  Chinaman  likes 


IN  AN  OPIUM   FACTOEY  307 

every  inch  of  the  stuff  we  send  him^  and  uses  it.  He  boils 
the  shell  and  gets  out  every  grain  of  the  lewa  used  to 
gum  it  together.  He  smokes  that  after  he  has  dried  it. 
Eoughly  speaking,  the  value  of  the  cake  we've  just  cut 
open  is  two  pound  ten.  All  the  time  it  is  in  our  hands 
we  have  to  look  after  it  and  check  it,  and  treat  it  as 
though  it  were  gold.  It  mustn't  have  too  much  moisture 
in  it,  or  it  will  swell  and  crack,  and  if  it  is  too  dry  John 
Chinaman  won't  have  it.  He  values  his  opium  for  quali- 
ties just  the  opposite  of  those  in  Smyrna  opium.  Smyrna 
opium  gives  as  much  as  ten  per  cent  of  morphia,  and  if 
nearly  solid  —  90  consistence.  Our  opium  does  not  give 
more  than  three  or  three  and  a  half  per  cent  of  morphia 
on  the  average,  and,  as  you  know,  it  is  only  70,  or  in 
Patna  75,  consistence.  That  is  the  drug  the  Chinaman 
likes.  He  can  get  the  maximum  of  extract  out  of  it  by 
soaking  it  in  hot  water,  and  he  likes  the  flavour.  He 
knows  it  is  absolutely  pure  too,  and  it  comes  to  him  in 
good  condition." 

"  But  has  nobody  found  out  any  patent  way  of  making 
these  cakes  and  putting  skins  on  them  by  machinery?" 

"Not  yet.  Poppy  to  poppy.  There's  nothing  better. 
Here  are  a  couple  of  cakes  made  in  1849,  when  they 
tried  experiments  in  wrapping  them  in  paper  and  cloth. 
You  can  see  that  they  are  beautifully  wrapped  and  sewn 
like  cricket  balls,  but  it  would  take  about  half  an  hour 
to  make  one  cake,  and  we  could  not  be  sure  of  keeping 
the  aroma  in  them.  There  is  nothing  like  poppy  plant 
for  poppy  drug." 

And  this  is  the  way  the  drug,  which  yields  such  a 
splendid  income  to  the  Indian  Government,  is  prepared. 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTKATION 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION 


THE  COW-HOUSE  JIRGA 

How  does  a  King  feel  when  he  has  kept  peace  in  his 
borders,  by  skilfully  playing  off  people  against  people, 
sect  against  sect,  and  kin  against  kin?  Does  he  go  out 
into  the  back  verandah,  take  off  his  terai-crown,  and 
rub  his  hands  softly,  chuckling  the  while  —  as  I  do 
now?  Does  he  pat  himself  on  the  back  and  hum  merry 
little  tunes  as  he  walks  up  and  down  his  garden?  A 
man  who  takes  no  delight  in  ruling  men  —  dozens  of 
them  —  is  no  man.  Behold!  India  has  been  squabbling 
over  the  Great  Cow  Question  any  time  these  four  hun- 
dred years,  to  the  certain  knowledge  of  history  and  suc- 
cessive governments.  I,  Smith,  have  settled  it.  That 
is  all! 

The  trouble  began,  in  the  ancient  and  well-established 
fashion,  with  a  love-affair  across  the  Border,  that  is  to 
say,  in  the  next  compound.  Peroo,  the  cow-boy,  went 
a-courting,  and  the  innocent  had  not  sense  enough  to 
keep  to  his  own  creed.  He  must  needs  make  love  to 
Baktawri,  Corkler's  coacliwan's  (coachman)  little  girl, 
and  she  being  betrothed  to  Ahmed  Buksh's  son,  cetat 
nine,  very  properly  threw  a  cow-dung  cake  at  his  head. 

1  The  following  are  newspaper  articles  written  between  1887  and 
1888  for  my  paper.  —  R.  K. 

311 


312  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

Peroo  scrambled  back,  hot  and  dishevelled,  over  the 
garden  wall,  and  the  vendetta  began.  Peroo  is  in  no 
sense  chivalrous.  He  saved  Chukki,  the  ayah's  (maid) 
little  daughter,  from  a  big  pariah  dog  once;  but  he 
made  Chukki  give  him  half  a  chapatti  for  his  services, 
and  Chukki  cried  horribly.  Peroo  threw  bricks  at  Bak- 
tawri  when  next  he  saw  her,  and  said  shameful  things 
about  her  birth  and  parentage.  "  If  she  be  not  fair  to 
me,  I  will  heave  a  rock  at  she,"  was  Peroo's  rule  of  life 
after  the  cow-dung  incident.  Baktawri  naturally  ob- 
jected to  bricks,  and  she  told  her  father. 

Without,  in  the  least,  wishing  to  hurt  Corkler's  feel- 
ings, I  must  put  on  record  my  opinion  that  his  coach- 
wan  is  a  cftamar-Mahometan,  not  too  long  converted. 
The  lines  on  which  he  fought  the  quarrel  lead  me 
to  this  belief,  for  he  made  a  Creed-question  of  the 
brick -throwing,  instead  of  waiting  for  Peroo  and  smack- 
ing that  young  cateran  when  he  caught  him.  Once  be- 
yond my  borders,  my  people  carry  their  lives  in  their 
own  hand  —  the  Government  is  not  responsible  for  their 
safety.  Corkler's  coachtuan  did  not  complain  to  me. 
He  sent  out  an  Army  —  Imam  Din,  his  son  —  with 
general  instructions  to  do  Peroo  a  mischief  in  the  eyes 
of  his  employer.  This  brought  the  fight  officially  under 
my  cognizance ;  and  was  a  direct  breach  of  the  neutral- 
ity existing  between  myself  and  Corkier,  who  has  "  Pun- 
jab head,"  and  declares  that  his  servants  are  the  best 
in  the  Province.  I  know  better.  They  are  the  tail- 
ings of  my  compound  —  "  casters  "  for  dishonesty  and 
riotousness.  As  an  Army,  Imam  Din  was  distinctly  in- 
experienced. As  a  General,  he  was  beneath  contempt. 
He  came  in  the  night  with  a  hoe,  and  chipped  a  piece 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION       313 

out  of  the  dun  heifer, —  Peroo's  charge,  —  fondly  imagin- 
ing that  Peroo  would  have  to  bear  the  blame.  Peroo  was 
discovered  next  morning  weeping  salt  tears  into  the 
wound,  and  the  mass  of  my  Hindu  population  were  at 
once  up  and  in  arms.  Had  I  headed  them,  they  would 
have  descended  upon  Corkler's  compound  and  swept  it 
off  the  face  of  the  earth.  But  I  calmed  them  with  fail- 
words  and  set  a  watch  for  the  cow-hoer.  Next  night, 
Imam  Din  came  again  with  a  bamboo  and  began  to  hit 
the  heifer  over  her  legs.  Peroo  caught  him  —  caught 
him  by  the  leg  —  and  held  on  for  the  dear  vengeance,  till 
Imam  Din  was  locked  up  in  the  gram-godown,  and  Peroo 
told  him  that  he  would  be  led  out  to  death  in  the  morn- 
ing. But  with  the  dawn,  the  Clan  Corkier  came  over, 
and  there  was  pulling  of  turbans  across  the  wall,  till  the 
Supreme  Government  was  dressed  and  said,  "  Be  silent !  " 
Now  Corkler's  coachtuan's  brother  was  my  coachman,  and 
a  man  much  dreaded  by  Peroo.  He  was  not  unaccus- 
tomed to  speak  the  truth  at  intervals,  and,  by  virtue  of 
that  rare  failing,  I,  the  Supreme  Government,  appointed 
him  head  of  the  jirga  (committee)  to  try  the  case  of 
Peroo's  unauthorised  love-making.  The  other  members 
were  my  bearer  (Hindu),  Corkler's  bearer  (Mahometan), 
with  the  ticca-dharzi  (hired  tailor),  Mahometan,  for 
Standing  Counsel.  Baktawri  and  Baktawri's  father 
were  witnesses,  but  Baktawri's  mother  came  all  un- 
asked and  seriously  interfered  with  the  gravity  of  the 
debate  by  abuse.  But  the  dharzi  upheld  the  dignity 
of  the  Law,  and  led  Peroo  away  by  the  ear  to  a  se- 
cluded spot  near  the  well. 

Imam  Din's  case  was  an  offence  against  the  Govern- 
ment, raiding  in  British  territory  and  maiming  of  cattle, 


314  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

complicated  with  trespass  by  night  —  all  heinous  crimes 
for  which  he  might  have  been  sent  to  jail.  The  evidence 
was  deadly  conclusive,  and  the  case  was  tried  summarily 
in  the  presence  of  the  heifer.  Imam  Din's  counsel  was 
Corkler's  sais,  who,  with  great  acumen,  pointed  out  that 
the  boy  had  only  acted  under  his  father's  instructions. 
Pressed  by  the  Supreme  Government,  he  admitted  that 
the  letters  of  marque  did  not  specify  cows  as  an  object  of 
revenge,  but  merely  Peroo.  The  hoeing  of  a  heifer  was  a 
piece  of  spite  on  Imam  Din's  part.  This  was  admitted. 
The  penalties  of  failure  are  dire.  A  chowkidar  (watch- 
man) was  deputed  to  do  justice  on  the  person  of  Imam 
Din,  but  sentence  was  deferred  pending  the  decision  of 
the  jirga  on  Peroo.  The  dharzi  announced  to  the  Su- 
preme Government  that  Peroo  had  been  found  guilty 
of  assaulting  Baktawri,  across  the  Border  in  Corkler's 
compound,  with  bricks,  thereby  injuring  the  honour  and 
dignity  of  Corkler's  coachwan.  For  this  offence,  the 
jirga  submitted,  a  sentence  of  a  dozen  stripes  was  neces- 
sary, to  be  followed  by  two  hours  of  ear-holding.  The 
Corkier  choivkidar  was  deputed  to  do  sentence  on  the 
person  of  Peroo,  and  the  Smith  chowkidar  on  that  of 
Imam  Din.  They  laid  on  together  with  justice  and 
discrimination,  and  seldom  have  two  small  boys  been 
better  trounced.  Followed  next  a  dreary  interval  of 
"ear-holding"  side  by  side.  This  is  a  peculiarly  Ori- 
ental punishment,  and  should  be  seen  to  be  appreciated. 
The  Supreme  Government  then  called  for  Corkler's 
coachwan  and  pointed  out  the  bleeding  heifer,  with 
such  language  as  seemed  suitable  to  the  situation. 
Local  knowledge  in  a  case  like  this  is  invaluable. 
Corkler's  coachwan  was  notoriously  a  wealthy  man, 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       315 

and  so  far  a  bad  Mussulman  in  that  he  lent  money  at 
interest.  As  a  financier  he  had  few  friends  among  his 
co-servants.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the  Smith  quarters, 
the  Mahometan  element  largely  predominated;  because 
the  Supreme  Government  considered  the  minds  of  Ma- 
hometans more  get-at-able  than  those  of  Hindus.  The 
sin  of  inciting  an  illiterate  and  fanatic  family  to  go  forth 
and  do  a  mischief  was  duly  dwelt  upon  by  the  Supreme 
Government,  together  with  the  dangers  attending  the 
vicarious  jehad  (religious  war).  Corkler's  coachwan 
offered  no  defence  beyond  the  general  statement  that 
the  Supreme  Government  was  his  father  and  his  mother. 
This  carried  no  weight.  The  Supreme  Government 
touched  lightly  on  the  inexpediency  of  reviving  an 
old  creed-quarrel,  and  pointed  out  a  venture,  that  the 
birth  and  education  of  a  chamar  (low-caste  Hindu), 
three  months  converted,  did  not  justify  such  extreme 
sectarianism.  Here  the  populace  shouted  like  the  men 
of  Ephesus,  and  sentence  was  passed  amid  tumultu- 
ous applause.  Corkler's  coachwan  was  ordered  to  give 
a  dinner,  not  only  to  the  Hindus  whom  he  had  insulted, 
but  also  to  the  Mahometans  of  the  Smith  compound,  and 
also  to  his  own  fellow-servants.  His  brother,  the  Smith 
coachwan,  unconverted  chamar,  was  to  see  that  he  did  it. 
Kefusal  to  comply  with  these  words  entailed  a  reference 
to  Corkier  and  the  "  Inspector  Sahib, "  who  would  send 
in  his  constables,  and,  with  the  connivance  of  the  Su- 
preme Government,  would  harry  and  vex  all  the  Corkier 
compound.  Corkler's  coachwan  protested,  but  was  over- 
borne by  Hindus  and  Mahometans  alike,  and  his  brother, 
who  hated  him  with  a  cordial  hatred,  began  to  discuss 
the  arrangements  for  the  dinner.  Peroo,  by  the  way, 


316  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

was  not  to  share  in  the  feast,  nor  was  Imam  Din.  The 
proceedings  then  terminated,  and  the  Supreme  Govern- 
ment went  in  to  breakfast. 

Ten  days  later  the  dinner  came  off  and  was  continued 
far  into  the  night.  It  marked  a  new  era  in  my  political 
relations  with  the  outlying  states,  and  was  graced  for  a 
few  minutes  by  the  presence  of  the  Supreme  Government. 
Corkier 's  coachwan  hates  me  bitterly,  but  he  can  find 
no  one  to  back  him  up  in  any  scheme  of  annoyance  that 
he  may  mature ;  for  have  I  not  won  for  my  Empire  a 
free  dinner,  with  oceans  of  sweetmeats?  And  in  this, 
gentlemen  all,  lies  the  secret  of  Oriental  administra- 
tion. My  throne  is  set  where  it  should  be  —  on  the 
stomachs  of  many  people. 

A  BAZAAR   DHULIP 

I  AND  the  Government  are  roughly  in  the  same  con- 
dition; but  modesty  forces  me  to  say  that  the  Smith 
Administration  is  a  few  points  better  than  the  Imperial. 
Corkler's  coachwan,  you  may  remember,  was  fined  a 
caste-dinner  by  me  for  sending  his  son,  Imam  Din,  to 
mangle  my  dun  heifer.  In  my  last  published  adminis- 
tration report,  I  stated  that  Corkler's  coachwan  bore 
me  a  grudge  for  the  fine  imposed  upon  him,  but  among 
my  servants  and  Corkler's,  at  least,  could  find  no  one 
to  support  him  in  schemes  of  vengeance.  I  was  quite 
right  —  right  as  an  administration  with  prestige  to  sup- 
port should  always  be. 

But  I  own  that  I  had  never  contemplated  the  possi- 
bility of  Corkler's  coachwan  going  off  to  take  service 
with  Mr.  Jehan  Concepcion  Fernandez  de  Lisboa  Paul 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION       317 

—  a  gentleman  semi-orientalised,  possessed  of  several 
dwelling-houses  and  an  infamous  temper.  Corkier  was 
an  Englishman,  and  any  attempt  on  his  coachwan's  part 
to  annoy  me  would  have  been  summarily  stopped.  Mr. 
J.  C.  F.  de  L.  Paul,  on  the  other  hand  .  .  .  but  no 
matter.  The  business  is  now  settled,  and  there  is 
no  necessity  for  importing  a  race-question  into  the 
story. 

Once  established  in  Mr.  Paul's  compound,  Corkler's 
coachwan  sent  me  an  insolent  message  demanding  a  re- 
fund, with  interest,  of  all  the  money  spent  on  the  caste- 
dinner.  The  Government,  in  a  temperately  framed 
reply,  refused  point-blank,  and  pointed  out  that  a 
Mahometan  by  his  religion  could  not  ask  for  interest. 
As  I  have  stated  in  my  last  report,  Corkler's  coachwan 
was  a  renegade  chamar,  converted  to  Islam  for  his 
wife's  sake.  The  impassive  attitude  of  the  Govern- 
ment had  the  effect  of  monstrously  irritating  Corkler's 
coachwan,  who  sat  on  the  wall  of  Mr.  Paul's  compound 
and  flung  highly  flavoured  vernacular  at  the  servants 
of  the  State  as  they  passed.  He  said  that  it  was  his 
intention  to  make  life  a  burden  to  the  Government  — 
profanely  called  Eschmitt  Sahib.  The  Government 
went  to  office  as  usual  and  made  no  sign.  Then 
Corkler's  coachwan  formulated  an  indictment  to  the 
effect  that  Eschmitt  Sahib  had,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
caste-dinner,  pulled  him  vehemently  by  the  ears,  and 
robbed  him  of  one  rupee  nine  annas  four  pie.  The 
charge  was  shouted  from  the  top  of  Mr.  Paul's  com- 
pound wall  to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven.  It  was  disre- 
garded by  the  Government,  and  the  refugee  took  more 
daring  measures.  He  came  by  night,  and  wrote  upon 


318  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  white-washed  walls  with  charcoal  disgraceful  sen- 
tences which  made  the  Smith  servants  grin. 

Now  it  is  bad  for  any  Government  that  its  servants 
should  grin  at  it.  Rebellion  is  as  the  sin  of  witchcraft; 
and  irreverence  is  the  parent  of  rebellion.  Not  content 
with  writing,  Corkler's  madman  began  to  miscall  the 
State  —  always  from  the  top  of  Mr.  Paul's  wall.  He 
informed  intending  mussalchis  (scullions)  that  Eschmitt 
Sahib  invariably  administered  his  pantry  with  a  polo- 
stock;  possible  saises  (grooms)  were  told  that  wages  in 
the  Smith  establishment  were  paid  yearly;  while  khit- 
matgars  (butlers)  learnt  that  their  family  honour  was  not 
safe  within  the  gate-posts  of  the  house  of  "Eschmitt." 
No  real  harm  was  done,  for  the  character  of  my  rule 
is  known  among  all  first-class  servants.  Still,  the 
vituperation  and  all  its  circumstantial  details  made 
men  laugh  ;  and  I  choose  that  no  one  shall  laugh. 

My  relations  with  Mr.  Paul  had  always  —  for  reasons 
connected  with  the  incursions  of  hens  —  been  strained. 
In  pursuance  of  a  carefully  matured  plan  of  campaign 
I  demanded  of  Mr.  Paul  the  body  of  Corkler's  coachwan, 
to  be  dealt  with  after  my  own  ideas.  Mr.  Paul  said  that 
the  man  was  a  good  coachwan  and  should  not  be  given 
up.  I  then  temperately  —  always  temperately  —  gave 
him  a  sketch  of  the  ruffian's  conduct.  Mr.  Paul  an- 
nounced his  entire  freedom  from  any  responsibility  in 
this  matter,  and  requested  that  the  correspondence  might 
cease.  It  was  vitally  necessary  to  the  well-being  of  my 
administration  that  Corkler's  coachwan  should  come  into 
my  possession.  He  was  daily  growing  a  greater  nui- 
sance, and  had  drawn  unto  him  a  disaffected  dog-boy, 
lately  in  my  employ. 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       319 

Mr.  Paul  was  deaf  to  my  verbal,  and  blind  to  my 
written  entreaties.  For  these  reasons  I  was  reluctantly 
compelled  to  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands  —  and 
break  it.  A  khitmatgar  was  sent  down  the  length  of 
Mr.  Paul's  wall  to  "  draw  the  fire  "  of  Corkler's  coachiuan, 
and  while  the  latter  cursed  him  by  his  gods  for  ever 
entering  Eschmitt  Sahib's  service,  Eschmitt  Sahib  crept 
subtilely  behind  the  wall  and  thrust  the  evil-speaker 
into  the  moon-lit  road,  where  he  was  pinioned,  in  strict 
silence,  by  the  ambushed  population  of  the  Smith  com- 
pound. Once  collared,  I  regret  to  say,  Corkler's  coach- 
wan  was  seized  with  an  unmanly  panic;  for  the  memory 
of  the  lewd  sentences  on  the  wall,  the  insults  shouted 
from  the  top  of  Mr.  Paul's  wall,  and  the  warnings  to 
wayfaring  table-servants,  came  back  to  his  mind.  He 
wept  salt  tears  and  demanded  the  protection  of  the 
law  and  of  Mr.  Paul.  He  received  neither.  He  was 
paraded  by  the  State  through  the  quarters,  that  all  men 
and  women  and  little  children  might  look  at  him.  He 
was  then  formally  appointed  last  and  lowest  of  the  car- 
riage-grooms —  nauker-ke-nauker  (servant  of  servants) 
—  in  perpetuity,  on  a  salary  which  would  never  be 
increased.  The  entire  Smith  people  —  Hindu  and  Mus- 
sulman alike  —  were  made  responsible  for  his  safe- 
keeping under  pain  of  having  all  the  thatch  additions 
to  their  houses  torn  down,  and  the  Light  of  the  Favour 
of  the  State  —  the  Great  Hazur-ki-Mehrbani  —  darkened 
for  ever. 

Legally  the  State  was  wrongfully  detaining  Corkler's 
coachwan.  Practically,  it  was  avenging  itself  for  a  pro- 
tracted series  of  insults  to  its  dignity. 

Days  rolled  on,  and  Corkler's  coachwan  became  car- 


320  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

riage-scws.  Instead  of  driving  two  horses,  it  was  his 
duty  to  let  down  the  steps  for  the  State  to  tread  upon. 
When  the  other  servants  received  cold-weather  coats,  he 
was  compelled  to  buy  one,  and  all  extra  lean-to  huts 
round  his  house  were  strictly  forbidden.  That  he  did 
not  run  away,  I  ascribe  solely  to  the  exertions  of  the 
domestic  police  —  that  is  to  say,  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  of  the  Smith  Kingdom.  He  was  delivered  into 
their  hands,  for  a  prey  and  a  laughing-stock  ;  and  in 
their  hands,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  they  intend 
that  he  shall  remain.  I  learn  that  my  khansamah  (head- 
butler)  has  informed  Mr.  Paul  that  his  late  servant  is 
in  gaol  for  robbing  the  Roman  Catholic  Chapel,  of  which 
Mr.  Paul  is  a  distinguished  member;  consequently  that 
gentleman  has  relaxed  his  attempts  to  unearth  what  he 
called  his  "so  good  coachwan."  That  coachwan  is  now  a 
living  example  and  most  lively  presentment  of  the  un- 
relaxing  wrath  of  the  State.  However  well  he  may 
work,  however  earnestly  strive  to  win  my  favour,  there 
is  no  human  chance  of  his  ever  rising  from  his  present 
position  so  long  as  Eschmitt  Sahib  and  he  are  above 
the  earth  together.  For  reasons  which  I  have  hinted  at 
above,  he  remains  cleaning  carriage-wheels,  and  will  so 
remain  to  the  end  of  the  chapter  ;  while  the  story  of 
his  fall  and  fate  spreads  through  the  bazaars,  and  fills 
the  ranks  of  servantdom  with  an  intense  respect  for 
Eschmitt  Sahib. 

A  broad-minded  Oriental  administration  would  have 
allowed  me  to  nail  up  the  head  of  Corkler's  coachwan 
over  the  hall  door;  a  narrow-souled  public  may  consider 
my  present  lenient  treatment  of  him  harsh  and  illegal. 
To  this  I  can  only  reply  that  I  know  how  to  deal  with 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTKATION       321 

my  own  people.     I  will  never,  never  part  with  Corkler's 
coachwan. 

THE   HANDS   OF  JUSTICE 

BE  pleased  to  listen  to  a  story  of  domestic  trouble  con- 
nected with  the  Private  Services  Commission  in  the  back 
verandah,  which  did  good  work,  though  I,  the  Commis- 
sion, say  so,  but  it  could  not  guard  against  the  Unfore- 
seen Contingency.  There  was  peace  in  all  my  borders 
till  Peroo,  the  cow-keeper's  son,  came  yesterday  and 
paralysed  the  Government.  He  said  his  father  had 
told  him  to  gather  sticks  —  dry  sticks  —  for  the  evening 
fire.  I  would  not  check  parental  authority  in  any  way, 
but  I  did  not  see  why  Peroo  should  mangle  my  sirris- 
trees.  Peroo  wept  copiously,  and,  promising  never  to 
despoil  my  garden  again,  fled  from  my  presence. 

To-day  I  have  caught  him  in  the  act  of  theft,  and  in 
the  third  fork  of  the  white  Doon  sirris,  twenty  feet  above 
ground.  I  have  taken  a  chair  and  established  myself 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  preparatory  to  making  up  my 
mind. 

The  situation  is  a  serious  one,  for  if  Peroo  be  led  to 
think  that  he  can  break  down  my  trees  unharmed,  the 
garden"  will  be  a  wilderness  in  a  week.  Furthermore, 
Peroo  has  insulted  the  Majesty  of  the  Government. 
Which  is  Me.  Also  he  has  insulted  my  sirris  in  saying 
that  it  is  dry.  He  deserves  a  double  punishment. 

On  the  other  hand,  Peroo  is  very  young,  very  small, 
and  very,  very  naked.  At  present  he  is  penitent,  for  he 
is  howling  in  a  dry  and  husky  fashion,  and  the  squirrels 
are  frightened. 

The  question  is  —  how  shall  I  capture  Peroo?    There 


322  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

are  three  courses  open  to  me.  I  can  shin  up  the  tree 
and  fight  him  on  his  own  ground.  I  can  shell  him  with 
clods  of  earth  till  he  makes  submission  and  comes  down; 
or,  and  this  seems  the  better  plan,  I  can  remain  where 
I  am,  and  cut  him  off  from  his  supplies  until  the  rifles 
—  sticks  I  mean  —  are  returned. 

Peroo,  for  all  practical  purposes,  is  a  marauding  tribe 
from  the  Hills  —  head-man,  fighting-tail  and  all.  I,  once 
more,  am  the  State,  cool,  collected,  and  impassive.  In 
half  an  hour  or  so  Peroo  will  be  forced  to  descend.  He 
will  then  be  smacked:  that  is,  if  I  can  lay  hold  of  his 
wriggling  body.  In  the  meantime,  I  will  demonstrate. 

"Bearer,  bring  me  the  turn-turn  ki  chabuq  (carriage- 
whip)." 

It  is  brought  and  laid  on  the  ground,  while  Peroo 
howls  afresh.  I  will  overawe  this  child.  He  has  an 
armful  of  stolen  sticks  pressed  to  his  stomach. 

"Bearer,  bring  also  the  chota  mota  chabuq  (the  little 
whip)' — the  one  kept  for  the punnia  kutta  (spaniel)." 

Peroo  has  stopped  howling.  He  peers  through  the 
branches  and  breathes  through  his  nose  very  hard. 
Decidedly,  I  am  impressing  him  with  a  show  of  armed 
strength.  The  idea  of  that  cruel  whip-thong  curling 
round  Peroo's  fat  little  brown  stomach  is  not  a  pleasant 
one.  But  I  must  be  firm. 

"  Peroo,  come  down  and  be  hit  for  stealing  the  Sahib's 
wood." 

Peroo  scuttles  up  to  the  fourth  fork,  and  waits  de- 
velopments. 

"Peroo,  will  you  come  down?" 

" No.     The  Sahib  will  hit  me." 

Here  the  goalla  appears,  and  learns  that  his  son  is  in 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTBATION       323 

disgrace.  "Beat  him  well,  Sahib,"  says  the  goalla. 
"He  is  a  budmash.  I  never  told  him  to  steal  your 
wood.  Peroo,  descend  and  be  very  much  beaten." 

There  is  silence  for  a  moment.  Then,  crisp  and  clear 
from  the  very  top  of  the  sirris,  floats  down  the  answer 
of  the  treed  dacoit. 

"  Kubbi,  Jcubbi  nahin  (Never  —  never  —  No !) . " 

The  goalla  hides  a  smile  with  his  hand  and  departs, 
saying:  "Very  well.  This  night  I  will  beat  you 
dead." 

There  is  a  rustle  in  the  leaves  as  Peroo  wriggles  him- 
self into  a  more  comfortable  seat. 

"Shall  I  send  a  punJcha-coolie  after  him?"  suggests 
the  bearer. 

This  is  not  good.  Peroo  might  fall  and  hurt  himself. 
Besides  I  have  no  desire  to  employ  native  troops.  They 
demand  too  much  batta.  The  punkha-coolie  would  expect 
four  annas  for  capturing  Peroo.  I  will  deal  with  the 
robber  myself.  He  shall  be  treated  judicially,  when 
the  excitement  of  wrong-doing  shall  have  died  away, 
as  befits  his  tender  years,  with  an  old  bedroom  slip- 
per, and  the  bearer  shall  hold  him.  Yes,  he  shall  be 
smacked  three  times, —  once  gently,  once  moderately, 
and  once  severely.  After  the  punishment  shall  come 
the  fine.  He  shall  help  the  malli  (gardener)  to  keep 
the  flower-beds  in  order  for  a  week,  and  then  — 

"  Sahib !  Sahib !     Can  I  come  down?  " 

The  rebel  treats  for  terms. 

"Peroo,  you  are  a  nut-cut  (a  young  imp)." 

" It  was  my  father's  order.     He  told  me  to  get  sticks." 

"From  this  tree?" 

"Yes;   Protector  of  the  Poor.     He  said  the  Sahib 


324  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

would  not  come  back  from  office  till  I  had  gathered 
many  sticks." 

"Your  father  didn't  tell  me  that." 

"  My  father  is  a  liar.  Sahib !  Sahib !  Are  you  going 
to  hit  me?" 

"Come  down  and  I'll  think  about  it." 

Peroo  drops  as  far  as  the  third  fork,  sees  the  whip, 
and  hesitates. 

"If  you  will  take  away  the  whips  I  will  come  down." 

There  is  a  frankness  in  this  negotiation  that  I  respect. 
I  stoop,  pick  up  the  whips,  and  turn  to  throw  them  into 
the  verandah. 

Follows  a  rustle,  a  sound  of  scraped  bark,  and  a  thud. 
When  I  turn,  Peroo  is  down,  off  and  over  the  compound 
wall.  He  has  not  dropped  the  stolen  fire-wood,  and  I 
feel  distinctly  foolish. 

My  prestige,  so  far  as  Peroo  is  concerned,  is  gone. 

This  Administration  will  now  go  indoors  for  a  drink. 

THE   SERAI  CABAL 

UPON  the  evidence  of  a  scullion,  I,  the  State,  rose  up 
and  made  sudden  investigation  of  the  crowded  serai. 
There  I  found  and  dismissed,  as  harmful  to  public 
morals,  a  lady  irj  a  pink  saree  who  was  masquerading 
as  somebody's  wife.  The  utter  and  abject  loneliness  of 
the  mussalchi,  that  outcaste  of  the  cookroom,  should, 
Orientally  speaking,  have  led  him  to  make  a  favourable 
report  to  his  fellow-servants.  That  he  did  not  do  so  I 
attributed  to  a  certain  hardness  of  character  brought  out 
by  innumerable  kickings  and  scanty  fare.  Therefore  I 
acted  on  his  evidence  and,  in  so  doing,  brought  down  the 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       325 

•wrath  of  the  entire  serai,  not  on  my  head, —  for  they 
were  afraid  of  me, — but  on  the  humble  head  of  Karim 
Baksh,  mussalchi.  He  had  accused  the  bearer  of  inacj 
curacy  in  money  matters,  and  the  Jchansamah  of  idleness ; 
besides  bringing  about  the  ejectment  of  fifteen  people  — 
men,  women,  and  children  —  related  by  holy  and  unholy 
ties  to  all  the  servants.  Can  you  wonder  that  Karim 
Baksh  was  a  marked  boy?  Departmentally,  he  was  under 
the  control  of  the  Jchansamah,  I  myself  taking  but  small 
interest  in  the  subordinate  appointments  on  my  staff. 
Two  days  after  the  evidence  had  been  tendered,  I  was 
not  surprised  to  learn  that  Karim  Baksh  had  been  dis- 
missed by  his  superior ;  reason  given,  that  he  was  per- 
sonally unclean.  It  is  a  fundamental  maxim  of  my 
administration  that  all  power  delegated  is  liable  to  sud- 
den and  unexpected  resumption  at  the  hands  of  the 
Head.  This  prevents  the  right  of  the  Lord-Proprietor 
from  lapsing  by  time.  The  Jchansamah'' s  decision  was 
reversed  without  reason  given,  and  the  enemies  of  Karim 
Baksh  sustained  their  first  defeat.  They  were  bold  in 
making  their  first  move  so  soon.  I,  Smith,  who  devote 
hours  that  would  be  better  spent  on  honest  money- 
getting,  to  the  study  of  my  servants,  knew  they  would 
now  try  less  direct  tactics.  Karim  Baksh  slept  soundly, 
over  against  the  drain  that  carries  off  the  water  of  my 
bath,  as  the  enemy  conspired. 

One  night  I  was  walking  round  the  house  when  the 
pungent  stench  of  a  JwoJcaJi  drifted  out  of  the  pantry. 
A  hookah,  out  of  place,  is  to  me  an  abomination.  I 
removed  it  gingerly,  and  demanded  the  name  of  the 
owner.  Out  of  the  darkness  sprang  a  man,  who  said, 
"  Karim  Baksh !  "  It  was  the  bearer.  Eunning  my  hand 


326  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

along  the  stem,  I  felt  the  loop  of  leather  which  a  chamar 
attaches,  or  should  attach,  to  his  pipe,  lest  higher  castes 
be  defiled  unwittingly.  The  bearer  lied,  for  the  burning 
hookah  was  a  device  of  the  groom  —  friend  of  the  lady 
in  the  pink  saree  —  to  compass  the  downfall  of  Karim 
Baksh.  So  the  second  move  of  the  enemy  was  foiled, 
and  Karim  Baksh  asleep  as  dogs  sleep,  by  the  drain, 
took  no  harm. 

Came  thirdly,  after  a  decent  interval  to  give  me  time 
to  forget  the  Private  Services  Commission,  the  gumnamah 
(the  anonymous  letter)  —  stuck  into  the  frame  of  the 
looking-glass.  Karim  Baksh  had  proposed  an  elope- 
ment with  the  sweeper's  wife,  and  the  morality  of  the 
serai  was  in  danger.  Also  the  sweeper  threatened  mur- 
der, which  could  be  avoided  by  the  dismissal  of  Karim 
Baksh.  The  blear-eyed  orphan  heard  the  charge  against 
him  unmoved,  and,  at  the  end,  turning  his  face  to  the 
sun,  said :  "  Look  at  me,  Sahib !  Am  I  the  man  a  woman 
runs  away  with?  "  Then  pointing  to  the  ayah,  "  Or  she 
the  woman  to  tempt  a  Mussulman?"  Low  as  was 
Karim  Baksh,  the  mussalchi,  he  could  by  right  of  creed 
look  down  upon  a  she-sweeper.  The  charge  under  Sec- 
tion 498,  I.  P.  C.,  broke  down  in  silence  and  tears,  and 
thus  the  third  attempt  of  the  enemy  came  to  naught. 

I,  Smith,  who  have  some  knowledge  of  my  subjects, 
knew  that  the  next  charge  would  be  a  genuine  one,  based 
on  the  weakness  of  Karim  Baksh,  which  was  clumsiness 
—  phenomenal  ineptitude  of  hand  and  foot.  Nor  was  I 
disappointed.  A  fortnight  passed,  and  the  bearer  and 
the  Jchansamah  simultaneously  preferred  charges  against 
Karim  Baksh.  He  had  broken  two  tea-cups  and  had 
neglected  to  report  their  loss  to  me;  the  value  of  the 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       327 

tea-cups  was  four  annas.  They  must  have  spent  days 
spying  upon  Kariin  Baksh,  for  he  was  a  morose  and 
solitary  boy  who  did  his  cup-cleaning  alone. 

Taxed  with  the  fragments,  Karim  Baksh  attempted 
no  defence.  Things  were  as  the  witnesses  said,  and  I 
was  his  father  and  his  mother.  By  my  rule,  a  servant 
who  does  not  confess  a  fault  suffers,  when  that  fault  is 
discovered,  severe  punishment.  But  the  red  Hanuman, 
who  grins  by  the  well  in  the  bazaar,  prompted  the  bearer 
at  that  moment  to  express  his  extreme  solicitude  for  the 
honour  and  dignity  of  my  service.  Literally  translated, 
the  sentence  ran,  "The  zeal  of  thy  house  has  eaten  me 
up." 

Then  an  immense  indignation  and  disgust  took  pos- 
session of  me,  Smith,  who  have  trodden,  as  far  as  an 
Englishman  may  tread,  the  miry  gulleys  of  native 
thought.  I  knew  —  nOne  better  —  the  peculations  of 
the  bearer,  the  vices  of  the  Jchansamah,  and  the  abject, 
fawning  acquiescence  with  which  these  two  men  would 
meet  the  basest  wish  that  my  mind  could  conceive.  And 
they  talked  to  me  —  thieves  and  worse  that  they  were  — 
of  their  desire  that  I  should  be  well  served!  Lied  to  me 
as  though  I  had  been  a  griff  but  twenty  minutes  landed 
on  the  Apollo  Bunder!  In  the  middle  stood  Karim 
Bakshj  silent;  on  either  side  was  an  accuser,  broken 
tea-cup  in  hand;  the  Jchansamah,  mindful  of  the  banished 
lady  in  the  pink  saree;  the  bearer  remembering  that, 
since  the  date  of  the  Private  Services  Commission,  the 
whisky  and  the  rupees  had  been  locked  up.  And  they 
talked  of  the  shortcomings  of  Karim  Baksh  —  the  out- 
caste —  the  boy  too  ugly  to  achieve  and  too  stupid  to 
conceive  sin  —  a  blunderer  at  the  worst.  Taking  each 


328  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

accuser  by  the  nape  of  his  neck,  I  smote  their  cunning 
skulls  the  one  against  the  other,  till  they  saw  stars  by 
the  firmamentful.  Then  I  cast  them  from  me,  for  I  was 
sick  of  them,  knowing  how  long  they  had  worked  in  secret 
to  compass  the  downfall  of  Karim  Baksh. 

And  they  laid  their  hands  upon  their  mouths  and  were 
dumb,  for  they  saw  that  I,  Smith,  knew  to  what  end 
they  had  striven. 

This  Administration  may  not  control  a  revenue  of 
seventy -two  millions,  more  or  less,  per  annum,  but  it  is 
wiser  than  —  some  people. 

THE   STORY  OF  A  KING 

IF  there  be  any  idle  people  who  remember  the  cam- 
paign against  Peroo,  the  cow-man's  son,  or  retain  any 
recollection  of  the  great  intrigue  set  afoot  by  all  the 
servants  against  the  scullion,  —  if,  I  say,  there  be  any 
who  bear  in  mind  these  notable  episodes  in  my  adminis- 
tration, I  would  pray  their  attention  to  what  follows. 

The  Gazette  of  India  shows  that  I  have  been  absent  for 
two  months  from  the  station  in  which  is  my  house. 

The  day  before  I  departed,  I  called  the  Empire  to- 
gether, from  the  bearer  to  the  sais'  friends'  hanger-on, 
and  it  numbered,  with  wives  and  babes,  thirty-seven 
souls  —  all  well-fed,  prosperous,  and  contented  under  my 
rule,  which  includes  free  phenyle  and  quinine.  I  made 
a  speech  —  along  speech  —  to  the  listening  peoples.  I 
announced  that  the  inestimable  boon  of  local  self- 
government  was  to  be  theirs  for  the  next  eight  weeks. 
They  said  that  it  was  "good  talk."  I  laid  upon  the 
Departments  concerned  the  charge  of  my  garden,  my 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION       329 

harness,  my  house,  my  horse,  my  guns,  my  furniture, 
all  the  screens  in  front  of  the  doors,  both  cows,  and  the 
little  calf  that  was  to  come.  I  charged  them  by  their 
hope  of  presents  in  the  future  to  act  cleanly  and  care- 
fully by  my  chattels ;  to  abstain  from  fighting,  and  to 
keep  the  serai  sweet.  That  this  might  be  done  under 
the  eye  of  authority,  I  appointed  a  Viceroy  —  the  very 
strong  man  Bahadur  Khan,  Jchitmatyar  to  wit  —  and, 
that  he  might  have  a  material  hold  over  his  subjects, 
gave  him  an  ounce-phial  of  cinchona  febrifuge,  to  dis- 
tribute against  the  fevers  of  September.  Lastly  —  and 
of  this  I  have  never  sufficiently  repented  —  I  gave  all 
of  them  their  two  months'  wages  in  advance.  They 
were  desperately  poor  some  of  them, —  how  poor  only  I 
and  the  money-lender  knew, — but  I  repent  still  of  my 
act.  A  rich  democracy  inevitably  rots. 

Eliminating  that  one  financial  error,  could  any  man 
have  done  better  than  I?  I  know  he  could  not,  for  I 
took  a  plebiscite  of  the  Empire  on  the  matter,  and  it 
said  with  one  voice  that  my  scheme  was  singularly 
right.  On  that  assurance  I  left  it  and  went  to  lighter 
pleasures. 

On  the  fourth  day  came  the  gumnameh.  In  my  heart 
of  hearts  I  had  expected  one,  but  not  so  soon  —  oh,  not 
so  soon!  It  was  on  a  postcard,  and  preferred  serious 
accusations  of  neglect  and  immorality  against  Bahadur 
Khan,  my  Viceroy.  I  understood  then  the  value  of  the 
anonymous  letter.  However  much  you  despise  it,  it 
breeds  distrust  —  especially  when  it  arrives  with  every 
other  mail.  To  my  shame  be  it  said  I  caused  a  watch 
to  be  set  on  Bahadur  Khan,  employing  a  tender  Babu. 
But  it  was  too  late.  An  urgent  private  telegram  in- 


330  FEOM  SEA  TO  SEA 

formed  me:  "Bahadur  Khan  secreted  sweeper's  daugh- 
ter. House  leaks."  The  head  of  my  administration, 
the  man  with  all  the  cinchona  febrifuge,  had  proved 
untrustworthy,  and  —  the  house  leaked.  The  agonies 
of  managing  an  Empire  from  the  Hills  can  only  be  ap- 
preciated by  those  who  have  made  the  experiment. 
Before  I  had  been  three  weeks  parted  from  my  country, 
I  was  compelled,  by  force  of  circumstance,  to  rule  it 
on  paper,  through  a  hireling  executive  —  the  Babu  — 
totally  incapable  of  understanding  the  wants  of  my 
people,  and,  in  the  nature  of  things,  purely  temporary. 
He  had,  at  some  portion  of  his  career,  been  in  a  sub- 
ordinate branch  of  the  Secretariat.  His  training  there 
had  paralysed  him.  Instead  of  taking  steps  when 
Bahadur  Khan  eloped  with  the  sweeper's  daughter, 
whom  I  could  well  have  spared,  and  the  cinchona  febri- 
fuge, which  I  knew  would  be  wanted,  he  wrote  me 
voluminous  reports  on  both  thefts.  The  leakage  of  the 
house  he  dismissed  in  one  paragraph,  merely  stating  that 
"much  furniture  had  been  swamped."  I  wrote  to  my 
landlord,  a  Hindu  of  the  old  school.  He  replied  that 
he  could  do  nothing  so  long  as  my  servants  piled  cut 
fuel  on  the  top  of  the  house,  straining  the  woodwork 
of  the  verandahs.  Also,  he  said  that  the  bhisti  (water- 
carrier)  refused  to  recognise  his  authority,  or  to  sprinkle 
water  on  the  road-metal  which  was  then  being  laid  down 
for  the  carriage  drive.  On  this  announcement  came  a 
letter  from  the  Babu,  intimating  that  bad  fever  had 
broken  out  in  the  serai,  and  that  the  servants  falsely 
accused  him  of  having  bought  the  cinchona  febrifuge 
of  Bahadur  Khan,  ex-Viceroy,  now  political  fugitive, 
for  the  purpose  of  vending  retail.  The  fever  and  not 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION       331 

the  false  charge  interested  me.  I  suggested  —  this  by 
wire  —  that  the  Babu  should  buy  quinine.  In  three 
days  he  wrote  to  know  whether  he  should  purchase 
common  or  Europe  quinine,  and  whether  I  would  repay 
him.  I  sent  the  quinine  down  by  parcel  post,  and 
sighed  for  Bahadur  Khan  with  all  his  faults.  Had  ho 
only  stayed  to  look  after  my  people,  I  would  have  for- 
given the  affair  of  the  sweeper's  daughter.  He  was 
immoral,  but  an  administrator,  and  would  have  done 
his  best  with  the  fever. 

In  course  of  time  my  leave  came  to  an  end,  and  I 
descended  on  my  Empire,  expecting  the  worst.  Nor 
was  I  disappointed.  In  the  first  place,  the  horses  had 
not  been  shod  for  two  months;  in  the  second,  the  garden 
had  not  been  touched  for  the  same  space  of  time ;  in  the 
third,  the  serai  was  unspeakably  filthy;  in  the  fourth, 
the  house  was  inches  deep  in  dust,  and  there  were  muddy 
stains  on  most  of  the  furniture;  in  the  fifth,  the  house 
had  never  been  opened;  in  the  sixth,  seventeen  of  my 
people  had  gone  away  and  two  had  died  of  fever;  in  the 
seventh,  the  little  calf  was  dead.  Eighthly  and  lastly, 
the  remnant  of  my  retainers  were  fighting  furiously 
among  themselves,  clique  against  clique,  creed  against 
creed,  and  woman  against  woman ;  this  last  was  the  most 
overwhelming  of  all.  It  was  a  dreary  home-coming. 
The  Empire  formed  up  two  deep  round  the  carriage  and 
began  to  explain  its  grievances.  It  wept  and  recrimi- 
nated and  abused  till  it  was  dismissed.  Next  morning 
I  discovered  that  its  finances  were  in  a  most  disorganised 
condition.  It  had  borrowed  money  for  a  wedding,  and 
to  recoup  itself  had  invented  little  bills  of  imaginary 
expenses  contracted  during  my  absence. 


332  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

For  three  hours  I  executed  judgment,  and  strove  as 
best  I  could  to  repair  a  wasted,  neglected,  and  desolate 
realm.  By  4  P.M.  the  ship  of  state  had  been  cleared  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  raffle,  and  its  crew  —  to  continue 
the  metaphor  —  had  beaten  to  quarters,  united  and  obe- 
dient once  more. 

Though  I  knew  the  fault  lay  with  Bahadur  Khan  — 
wicked,  abandoned,  but  decisive  and  capable-of-ruling- 
men  Bahadur  Khan  —  I  could  not  rid  myself  of  the 
thought  that  I  was  wrong  in  leaving  my  people  so  long 
to  their  own  devices. 

But  this  was  absurd.  A  man  can't  spend  all  his  time 
looking  after  his  servants,  can  he? 

THE  GREAT  CENSUS 

MOWGI  was  a  mehter  (a  sweeper),  but  he  was  also  a 
Punjabi,  and  consequently,  had  a  head  on  his  shoulders. 
Mowgi  was  my  mehter  —  the  property  of  Smith  who 
governs  a  vast  population  of  servants  with  unprece- 
dented success.  When  he  was  my  subject  I  did  not  ap- 
preciate him  properly.  I  called  him  lazy  and  unclean; 
I  protested  against  the  multitude  of  his  family.  Mowgi 
asked  for  his  dismissal,  —  he  was  the  only  servant  who 
ever  voluntarily  left  the  Shadow  of  my  Protection,  —  and 
I  said :  "  0  Mowgi,  either  you  are  an  irreclaimable  ruf- 
fian or  a  singularly  self-reliant  man.  In  either  case  you 
will  come  to  great  grief.  Where  do  you  intend  to  go?" 
"God  knows,"  said  Mowgi,  cheerfully.  "I  shall  leave 
my  wife  and  all  the  children  here,  and  go  somewhere 
else.  If  you,  Sahib,  turn  them  out,  they  will  die !  For 
you  are  their  only  protector." 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       333 

So  I  was  dowered  with  Mowgi's  wife  —  wives  rather, 
for  he  had  forgotten  the  new  one  from  Rawalpindi;  and 
Mowgi  went  out  to  the  unknown,  and  never  sent  a  single 
letter  to  his  family.  The  wives  used  to  clamour  in  the 
verandah  and  accuse  me  of  having  taken  the  remittances, 
which  they  said  Mowgi  must  have  sent,  to  help  out  my 
own  pay.  When  I  supported  them  they  were  quite  sure 
of  the  theft.  For  these  reasons  I  was  angry  with  the 
absent  Mowgi. 

Time  passed,  and  I,  the  great  Smith,  went  abroad  on 
travels  and  left  my  Empire  in  Commission.  The  wives 
were  the  feudatory  Native  States,  but  the  Commission 
could  not  make  them  recognise  any  feudal  tie.  They 
both  got  married,  saying  that  Mowgi  was  a  bad  man, 
but  they  never  left  my  compound. 

In  the  course  of  my  wanderings  I  came  to  the  great 
Native  State  of  Ghorahpur,  which,  as  every  one  knows,  is 
on  the  borders  of  the  Indian  Desert.  None  the  less,  it 
requires  almost  as  many  printed  forms  for  its  proper 
administration  as  a  real  district.  Among  its  other 
peculiarities,  it  was  proud  of  its  prisoners  —  Jcaidis  they 
were  called.  In  the  old  days  Ghorahpur  was  wont  to 
run  its  dacoits  through  the  stomach  or  cut  them  with 
swords;  but  now  it  prides  itself  on  keeping  them  in  leg- 
irons  and  employing  them  on  "remunerative  labour," 
that  is  to  say,  sitting  in  the  sun  by  the  side  of  a  road 
and  waiting  until  some  road-metal  comes  and  lays  itself 
down. 

A  gang  of  Jcaidis  was  hard  at  work  in  this  fashion 
when  I  came  by,  and  the  warder  was  picking  his  teeth 
with  the  end  of  his  bayonet.  One  of  the  fettered  sinners 
came  forward  and  salaamed  deeply  to  me.  It  was  Mowgi, 


334  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

—  fat,  well  fed,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "Is  the 
Presence  in  good  health  and  are  all  in  his  house  well?" 
said  Mowgi.  "  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here?  " 
demanded  the  Presence.  "  By  your  honour's  favour  I  am 
in  prison,"  said  he,  shaking  one  leg  delicately  to  make 
the  ankle-iron  jingle  on  the  leg-bar.  "  I  have  been  in 
prison  nearly  a  month." 

"  What  for  —  dacoity  ?  " 

"I  have  been  a  Sahib's  servant,"  said  Mowgi,  of- 
fended. "Do  you  think  that  I  should  ever  become  a 
low  dacoit  like  these  men  here?  I  am  in  prison  for 
making  a  numbering  for  the  people." 

"A  what?"  Mowgi  grinned,  and  told  the  tale  of  his 
misdeeds  thus :  — 

"When  I  left  your  service,  Sahib,  I  went  to  Delhi, 
and  from  Delhi  I  came  to  the  Sambhur  Salt  Lake  over 
there !  "  He  pointed  across  the  sand.  "  I  was  a  Jemadar 
of  mehters  (a  headman  of  sweepers)  there,  because  these 
Marwarri  people  are  without  sense.  Then  they  gave  me 
leave  because  they  said  that  I  had  stolen  money.  It  was 
true,  but  I  was  also  very  glad  to  go  away,  for  my  legs 
were  sore  from  the  salt  of  the  Sambhur  Lake.  I  went 
away  and  hired  a  camel  for  twenty  rupees  a  month. 
That  was  shameful  talk,  but  these  thieves  of  Marwarris 
would  not  let  me  have  it  for  less." 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  money  from?  "  I  asked. 

"I  have  said  that  I  had  stolen  it.  I  am  a  poor  man. 
I  could  not  get  it  by  any  other  way." 

"But  what  did  you  want  with  a  camel?" 

"The  Sahib  shall  hear.  In  the  house  of  a  certain 
Sahib  at  Sambhur  was  a  big  book  which  came  from 
Bombay,  and  whenever  the  Sahib  wanted  anything  to 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       335 

eat  or  good  tobacco,  he  looked  into  the  book  and  wrote 
a  letter  to  Bombay,  and  .in  a  week  all  the  things  came 
as  he  had  ordered  —  soap  and  sugar  and  boots.  I  took 
that  book ;  it  was  a  fat  one ;  and  I  shaved  my  moustache 
in  the  manner  of  Mahometans,  and  I  got  upon  my  camel 
and  went  away  from  that  bad  place  of  Sambhur." 

"Where  did  you  go?" 

"I  cannot  say.  I  went  for  four  days  over  the  sand 
till  I  was  very  far  from  Sambhur.  Then  I  came  to  a 
village  and  said:  'I  am  Wajib  Ali,  Bahadur,  a  servant 
of  the  Government,  and  many  men  are  wanted  to  go  and 
fight  in  Cabul.  The  order  is  written  in  this  book.  How 
many  strong  men  have  you?  '  They  were  afraid  because 
of  my  big  book,  and  because  they  were  without  sense. 
They  gave  me  food,  and  all  the  headmen  gave  me  rupees 
to  spare  the  men  in  that  village,  and  I  went  away  from 
there  with  nineteen  rupees.  The  name  of  that  village 
was  Kot.  And  as  I  had  done  at  Kot,  so  I  did  at  other 
villages,  —  Waka,  Tung,  Malair,  Palan,  Myokal,  and 
other  places, — always  getting  rupees  that  the  names  of 
the  strong  young  men  might  not  be  written  down.  I 
went  from  Bikanir  to  Jeysulmir,  till  my  book  in  which 
I  always  looked  wisely  so  as  to  frighten  the  people,  was 
back -broken,  and  I  got  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
eight  rupees  twelve  annas  and  six  pies." 

"All  from  a  camel  and  a  Treacher's  Price  List?" 

"  I  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  book,  but  these  peo- 
ple were  very  frightened  of  me.  But  I  tried  to  take 
my  taJckus  from  a  servant  of  this  State,  and  he  made 
a  report,  and  they  sent  troopers,  who  caught  me,  —  me, 
and  my  little  camel,  and  my  big  book.  Therefore  I  was 
sent  to  prison." 


336  FKOM  SEA  TO  SEA 

"Mowgi,"  said  I,  solemnly,  "if  this  be  true,  you  are 
a  great  man.  When  will  you  be  out  of  prison?  " 

"In  one  year.  I  got  three  months  for  taking  the 
numbering  of  the  people,  and  one  year  for  pretending 
to  be  a  Mahometan.  But  I  may  run  away  before.  All 
these  people  are  very  stupid  men." 

"My  arms,  Mowgi,"  I  said,  "will  be  open  to  you 
when  the  term  of  your  captivity  is  ended.  You  shall 
be  my  body-servant." 

"The  Presence  is  my  father  and  my  mother,"  said 
Mowgi.  "I  will  come." 

"The  wives  have  married,  Mowgi,"  I  said. 

"No  matter,"  said  Mowgi.  "I  also  have  a  wife  at 
Sambhur  and  one  here.  When  I  return  to  the  service 
of  the  Presence,  which  one  shall  I  bring?" 

"Which  one  you  please." 

"The  Presence  is  my  protection  and  a  son  of  the 
gods,"  said  Mowgi.  "Without  doubt  I  will  come  as 
soon  as  I  can  escape." 

I  am  waiting  now  for  the  return  of  Mowgi.  I  will 
make  him  overseer  of  all  my  house. 

THE  KILLING  OF  HATIM  TAI 

Now  Hatim  Tai  was  condemned  to  death  by  the  Gov- 
ernment, because  he  had  stepped  upon  his  mahout,  broken 
his  near-hind  leg-chain,  and  punched  poor  old  pursy 
Durga  Pershad  in  the  ribs  till  that  venerable  beast 
squealed  for  mercy.  Hatim  Tai  was  dangerous  to  the 
community,  and  the  mahout's  widow  said  that  her  hus- 
band's soul  would  never  rest  till  Hatim's  little,  pig- 
like  eye  was  glazed  in  the  frost  of  death.  Did  Hatim 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       337 

care?  Not  he.  He  trumpeted  as  he  swung  at  his 
pickets,  and  he  stole  as  much  of  Durga  Pershad's  food 
as  he  could.  Then  he  went  to  sleep  and  looked  that  "  all 
the  to-morrows  should  be  as  to-day, "  and  that  he  should 
never  carry  loads  again.  But  the  minions  of  the  Law 
did  not  sleep.  They  came  by  night  and  scanned  the 
huge  bulk  of  Hatim  Tai,  and  took  council  together  how 
he  might  best  be  slain. 

"If  we  borrowed  a  seven-pounder,"  began  the  Subal- 
tern, "or,  better  still,  if  we  turned  him  loose  and  had 
the  Horse  Battery  out  !  A  general  inspection  would  be 
nothing  to  it!  I  wonder  whether  my  Major  would  see 
it?" 

"Skittles,"  said  all  the  Doctors  together.  "He's 
our  property."  They  severally  murmured,  "arsenic," 
"strychnine,"  and  "opium,"  and  went  their  way,  while 
Hatim  Tai  dreamed  of  elephant  loves,  wooed  and  won 
long  ago  in  the  Doon.  The  day  broke,  and  savage 
mahouts  led  him  away  to  the  place  of  execution ;  for  he 
was  quiet,  being  "fey,"  as  are  both  men  and  beasts  when 
they  approach  the  brink  of  the  grave  unknowing.  "  Ha,, 
Salah !  Ha,  Budmash  I  To-day  you  die !  "  shouted  the 
mahouts,  "and  Mangli's  ghost  will  rode  you  with  an 
ankus  heated  in  the  flames  of  Put,  0  murderer  and  tun- 
bellied  thief."  "A  long  journey,"  thought  Hatim  Tai. 
"'Wonder  what  they'll  do  at  the  end  of  it."  He  broke 
off  the  branch  of  a  tree  and  tickled  himself  on  his  jowl 
and  ears.  And  so  he  walked  into  the  place  of  execution, 
where  men  waited  with  many  chains  and  grievous  ropes, 
and  bound  him  as  he  had  never  been  bound  before. 

"Foolish  people!"  said  Hatim  Tai.  "Almost  as 
foolish  as  Mangli  when  he  called  me  —  the  pride  of  all 
VOL,  n— z 


338  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  Doon,  the  brightest  jewel  in  Sanderson  Sahib's 
crown — a  'base-born.'  I  shall  break  these  ropes  in  a 
minute  or  two,  and  then,  between  my  fore  and  hind 
legs,  some  one  is  like  to  be  hurt." 

"  How  much  d'you  think  he'll  want  ?  "  said  the  first 
Doctor.  "About  two  ounces,"  answered  the  second. 
"Say  three  to  be  on  the  safe  side,"  said  the  first;  and 
they  did  up  the  three  ounces  of  arsenic  in  a  ball  of 
sugar.  "Before  a  fight  it  is  best  to  eat,"  said  Hatim 
Tai,  and  he  put  away  the  gur  with  a  salaam;  for  he 
prided  himself  upon  his  manners.  The  men  fell  back, 
and  Hatim  Tai  was  conscious  of  grateful  warmth  in 
his  stomach.  "  Bless  their  innocence  ! "  thought  he. 
"They've  given  me  a  mussala.  I  don't  think  I  want 
it ;  but  I'll  show  that  I'm  not  ungrateful." 

And  he  did!  The  chains  and  the  ropes  held  firm. 
"It's  beginning  to  work,"  said  a  Doctor.  "Nonsense," 
said  the  Subaltern.  "  I  know  old  Hatim' s  ways.  He's 
lost  his  temper.  If  the  ropes  break  we're  done  for." 

Hatim  kicked  and  wriggled  and  squealed  and  did  his 
best,  so  far  as  his  anatomy  allowed,  to  buck-jump;  but 
the  ropes  stretched  not  one  inch. 

"I  am  making  a  fool  of  myself,"  he  trumpeted.  "I 
must  be  calm.  At  seventy  years  of  age  one  should 
behave  with  dignity.  None  the  less,  these  ropes  are  ex- 
cessively galling."  He  ceased  his  struggles,  and  rocked 
to  and  fro  sulkily.  "  He  is  going  to  fall !  "  whispered  a 
Doctor.  "Not  a  bit  of  it.  Now  it's  my  turn.  We'll 
try  the  Sorychnine,"  said  the  second. 

Prick  a  large  and  healthy  tiger  with  a  corking-pin, 
and  you  will,  in  some  small  measure,  realise  the  diffi- 
culty of  injecting  strychnine  subcutaneously  into  an 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTKATION       339 

elephant  nine  feet  eleven  inches  and  one-half  at  the 
shoulder.  Hatim  Tai  forgot  his  dignity  and  stood  on 
his  head,  while  all  the  world  wondered.  "I  told  you 
that  would  fetch  him  ! "  shouted  the  apostle  of  strych- 
nine, waving  an  enormous  bottle.  "That's  the  death- 
rattle!  Stand  back  all  !" 

But  it  was  only  Hatim  Tai  expressing  his  regret  that 
he  had  slain  Mangli,  and  so  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
most  incompetent  mahouts  that  he  had  ever  made  string- 
stirrups.  "  I  was  never  jabbed  with  an  ankus  all  over 
my  body  before;  and  I  won't  stand  it!"  blared  Hatim 
Tai.  He  stood  upon  his  head  afresh  and  kicked. 
"Final  convulsion,"  said  the  Doctor,  just  as  Hatim  Tai 
grew  weary  and  settled  into  peace  again.  After  all,  it 
was  not  worth  behaving  like  a  baby.  He  would  be  calm. 
He  was  calm  for  two  hours,  and  the  Doctors  looked  at 
their  watches  and  yawned. 

"Now  it's  my  turn,"  said  the  third  Doctor.  " Afim 
lao."  They  brought  it  —  a  knob  of  Patna  opium  of  the 
purest,  in  weight  half  a  seer.  Hatim  swallowed  it 
whole.  Ghazipur  excise  opium,  two  cakes  of  a  seer 
each,  followed,  helped  down  with  much  gur.  "  This 
is  good,"  said  Hatim  Tai.  "They  are  sorry  for  their 
rudeness.  Give  me  some  more." 

The  hours  wore  on,  and  the  sun  began  to  sink,  but 
not  so  Hatim  Tai.  The  three  Doctors  cast  professional 
rivalry  to  the  winds  and  united  in  ravaging  their 
dispensaries  in  Hatim  Tea's  behalf.  Cyanide  of  potas- 
sium amused  him.  Bisulphide  of  mercury,  chloral  (very 
little  of  that),  sulphate  of  copper,  oxide  of  zinc,  red 
lead,  bismuth,  carbonate  of  baryta,  corrosive  sublimate, 
quicklime,  stramonium,  veratrium,  colchicum,  muriatic 


340  FEOM   SEA  TO  SEA 

acid,  and  lunar  caustic,  all  went  down,  one  after  another, 
in  the  balls  of  sugar  ;  and  Hatim  Tai  never  blenched. 

It  was  not  until  the  Hospital  Assistant  clamoured: 
"  All  these  things  Government  Store  and  Medical  Com- 
forts," that  the  Doctors  desisted  and  wiped  their  heated 
brows.  "'Might  as  well  physic  a  Cairo  sarcophagus," 
grumbled  the  first  Doctor,  and  Hatim  Tai  gurgled 
gently;  meaning  that  he  would  like  another  grwr-ball. 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  said  the  Subaltern,  who  had  gone 
away,  done  a  day's  work,  and  returned  with  his  pet 
eight-bore.  "D'you  mean  to  say  that  you  haven't  killed 
Hatim  Tai  jet  —  three  of  you?  Most  unprofessional,  I 
call  it.  You  could  have  polished  off  a  battery  in  that 
time."  "Battery!"  shrieked  the  baffled  medicos  in 
chorus.  "  He's  got  enough  poison  in  his  system  to  set- 
tle the  whole  blessed  British  Army !  " 

"Let  me  try,"  said  the  Subaltern,  unstrapping  the 
gun-case  in  his  dog-cart.  He.  threw  a  handkerchief 
upon  the  ground,  and  passed  quickly  in  front  of  the 
elephant.  Hatim  Tai  lowered  his  head  slightly  to  look, 
and  even  as  he  did  so  the  spherical  shell  smote  him  on 
the  "  Saucer  of  Life  "  —  the  little  spot  no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand  which  is  six  inches  above  a  line  drawn  from 
eye  to  eye.  "This  is  the  end,"  said  Hatim  Tai.  "  I  die 
as  Niwaz  Jung  died !  "  He  strove  to  keep  his  feet,  stag- 
gered, recovered,  and  reeled  afresh.  Then,  with  one 
wild  trumpet  that  rang  far  through  the  twilight,  Hatim 
Tai  fell  dead  among  his  pickets. 

"Might  ha'  saved  half  your  dispensaries  if  you'd 
called  me  in  to  treat  him  at  first,"  said  the  Subaltern, 
wiping  out  the  eight-bore. 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTBATION       341 


A  SELF-MADE  MAN 

SURJUN  came  back  from  Kimberley,  whicli  is  Tom 
Tiddler's  Ground,  where  he  had  been  picking  up  gold 
and  silver.  He  was  no  longer  a  Purbeah.  A  real  dia- 
mond ring  sparkled  on  his  hand,  and  his  tweed  suit  hud 
cost  him  forty-two  shillings  and  sixpence.  He  paid  two 
hundred  pounds  into  the  Bank;  and  it  was  there  that  I 
caught  him  and  treated  him  as  befitted  a  rich  man.  "  0 
Surjun,  come  to  my  house  and  tell  me  your  story." 

Nothing  loath,  Surjun  came  —  diamond  ring  and  all. 
His  speech  was  composite.  When  he  wished  to  be  im- 
pressive, he  spoke  English  checkered  with  the  Low 
Dutch  slang  of  the  Diamond  Fields.  When  he  would 
be  expressive,  he  returned  to  his  vernacular,  and  was  as 
native  as  a  gentleman  with  sixteen  and  sixpenny  boots 
could  be. 

"I  will  tell  you  my  tale,"  said  Surjun,  displaying  the 
diamond  ring.  "There  was  a  friend  of  mine,  and  he 
went  to  Kimberley,  and  was  a  firm  there  selling  things 
to  the  digger-men.  In  thirteen  years  he  made  seven 
thousand  pounds.  He  came  to  me  —  I  was  from  Chye- 
bassa  in  those  days  —  and  said,  'Come  into  my  firm.'  I 
went  with  him.  Oh  no!  I  was  not  an  emigrant.  I  took 
my  own  ship,  and  we  became  the  firm  of  Surjun  and 
Jagesser.  Here  is  the  card  of  my  firm.  You  can  read 
it:  'Surjun  and  Jagesser  Dube,  De  Beer's  Terrace,  De 
Beer's  Fields,  Kimberley.'  We  made  an  iron  house,— 
all  the  houses  are  iron  there, —  and  we  sold,  to  the 
diggers  and  the  Kaffirs  and  all  sorts  of  men,  clothes, 
flour,  mealies,  that  is  Indian  corn,  sardines  and  milk, 


342  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

and  salmon  in  tins,  and  boots,  and  blankets,  and  clothes 
just  as  good  as  the  clothes  as  I  wear  now.  . 

"Kimberley  is  a  good  place.  There  are  no  pennies 
there — what  you  call  pice  —  except  to  buy  stamps  with. 
Threepence  is  the  smallest  piece  of  money,  and  even 
threepence  will  not  buy  a  drink.  A  drink  is  one  shil- 
ling, one  shilling  and  threepence,  or  one  shilling  and 
ninepence.  And  even  the  water  there,  it  is  one  shilling 
and  threepence  for  a  hundred  gallons  in  Kirnberley. 
All  things  you  get  you  pay  money  for.  Yes,  this  dia- 
mond ring  cost  much  money.  Here  is  the  bill,  and 
there  is  the  receipt  stamp  upon  the  bill  —  'Behrendt  of 
Dutoitspan  Road. '  It  is  written  upon  the  bill,  and  the 
price  was  thirteen  pounds  four  shillings.  It  is  a  good 
diamond  • —  Cape  diamond.  That  is  why  the  colour  is  a 
little,  little  soft  yellow.  All  Cape  diamonds  are  so. 

"How  did  I  get  rny  money?  'Fore  Gott,  I  cannot 
tell,  Sahib.  You  sell  one  day,  you  sell  the  other  day, 
and  all  the  other  days  —  give  the  thing  and  take  the 
money  —  the  money  comes.  If  we  know  man  very  well, 
we  give  credit  one  week,  and  if  very,  very  well,  so  much 
as  one  month.  You  buy  boots  for  eleven  shillings  and 
sixpence;  sell  for  sixteen  shillings.  What  you  buy  at 
one  pound,  you  sell  for  thirty  shillings  —  at  Kimberley. 
That  is  the  custom.  No  good  selling  bad  things.  All 
the  digger-men  know  and  the  Kaffirs  too. 

"The  Kaffir  is  a  strange  man.  He  comes  into  the 
shops  and  say,  taking  a  blanket,  'How  much?'  in  the 
Kaffir  talk  — So!" 

Surjun  here  delivered  the  most  wonderful  series  of 
clicks  that  I  had  ever  heard  from  a  human  throat. 

"That  is  how  the  Kaffir  asks   'How  much?'"  said 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       343 

Surjun,  calmly,  enjoying  the  sensation  that  he  had  pro- 
duced. 

"Then  you  say,  *  No,  you  say,'  and  you  say  it  so." 
(More  clicks  and  a  sound  like  a  hurricane  of  kisses.) 
"Then  the  Kaffir  he  say:  'No,  no,  that  blanket  your 
blanket,  not  my  blanket.  You  say."  "And  how  long 
does  this  business  last?  "  "  Till  the  Kaffir  he  tired,  and 
says,"  answered  Surjun.  "And  then  do  you  begin  the 
real  bargaining?"  "Yes,"  said  Surjun,  "same  as  in 
bazaar  here.  The  Kaffir  he  says,  'I  can't  pay!'  Then 
you  fold  up  blanket,  and  Kaffir  goes  away.  Then  he 
comes  back  and  says  egobu,'  that  is  Kaffir  for  blanket. 
And  so  you  sell  him  all  he  wants." 

"Poor  Kaffir!  And  what  is  Kimberley  like  to  look 
at?" 

"  A  beautiful  clean  place  —  all  so  clean,  and  there  is  a 
very  good  law  there.  This  law.  A  man  he  come  into 
your  compound  after  nine  o'clock,  and  you  say  vootsac 
—  same  as  nic/clejao  —  and  he  doesn't  vootsac;  suppose 
you  shoot  that  man  and  he  dies,  and  he  calls  you  before 
magistrate,  he  can't  do  nothing." 

"Very  few  dead  men  can.  Are  you  allowed  to  shoot 
before  saying  'vootsac '?" 

"Oh  Hell,  yes!  Shoot  if  you  see  him  in  the  com- 
pound after  nine  o'clock.  That  is  the  law.  Perhaps  he 
have  come  to  steal  diamonds.  Many  men  steal  diamonds, 
and  buy  and  sell  without  license.  That  is  called  Aidibi." 

"What?" 

"Aidibi." 

-"Oh!  'I.  D.  B.'  I  see.  Well,  what  happens  to 
them?" 

"They  go  to  gaol  for  years  and  years.     Very  many 


344  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

men  in  gaol  for  I.  D.  B.  Very  many  men  your  people, 
very  few  mine.  Heaps  of  Kaffirs.  Kaffir  he  swallows 
diamond,  and  takes  medicine  to  find  him  again.  You 
get  not  less  than  ten  years  for  I.  D.  B.  But  I  and  my 
friend,  we  stay  in  our  iron  house  and  mind  shop.  That 
too  is  the  way  to  make  money." 

"  Aren't  your  people  glad  to  see  you  when  you  come 
back?" 

"  My  people  is  all  dead.  Father  dead,  mother  dead ; 
and  only  brother  living  with  some  children  across  the 
river.  I  have  been  there,  but  that  is  not  my  place.  I 
belong  to  nowhere  now.  They  are  all  dead.  After  a 
few  weeks  I  take  my  steamer  to  Kimberley,  and  then 
my  friend  he  come  here  and  put  his  money  in  the  Bank." 

"Why  don't  you  bank  in  Kimberley?" 

"  I  wanted  to  see  my  brother,  and  I  have  given  him 
one  thousand  rupees.  No,  one  hundred  pounds;  that  is 
more,  more.  Here  is  the  Bank  bill.  All  the  others  he 
is  dead.  There  are  some  people  of  this  country  at  Kim- 
berley,—  Rajputs,  Brahmins,  Ahirs,  Parsees,  Chamars, 
Bunnias,  Telis, —  all  kinds  go  there.  But  my  people 
are  dead.  I  shall  take  my  brother's  son  back  with  me 
to  Kimberley,  and  when  he  can  talk  the  Kaffir  talk,  he 
will  be  useful,  and  he  shall  come  into  the  firm.  My 
brother  does  not  mind.  He  sees  that  I  am  rich.  And 
now  I  must  go  to  the  village,  Sahib.  Good  day,  sir." 

Surjun  rose,  made  as  if  to  depart,  but  returned.  The 
Native  had  come  to  the  top. 

"Sahib!    Is  this  talk  for  publish  in  paper?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  put  in  about  this  diamond  ring."  He  went 
away,  twirling  the  ring  lovingly  on  his  finger. 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTBATION       345 

Know,  therefore,  0  Public,  by  these  presents,  that 
Surjun,  son  of  Surjun,  one  time  resident  in  the  village 
of  Jlmsi,  in  the  District  of  Allahabad,  in  the  North- 
west Provinces,  at  present  partner  in  the  firm  of  Surjun 
and  Jagesser  Dube,  De  Beer's  Terrace,  De  Beer's  Fields, 
Kimberley,  who  has  tempted  his  fortune  beyond  the 
seas,  owns  legally  and  rightfully  a  Cape  stone,  valued 
at  thirteen  pounds  four  shillings  sterling,  sold  to  him 
by  Behrendt  of  Dutoitspan  Eoad,  Kimberley. 

And  it  looks  uncommonly  well. 

THE  VENGEANCE   OF  LAL  BEG 

THIS  is  the  true  story  of  the  terrible  disgrace  that 
came  to  Jullundri  mehter,  through  Jamuna,  his  wife. 
Those  who  say  that  a  mehter  has  no  caste,  speak  in  igno- 
rance. Those  who  say  that  there  is  a  caste  in  the  Em- 
pire so  mean  and  so  abject  that  there  are  no  castes  below 
it,  speak  in  greater  ignorance.  The  arain  says  that  the 
chamar  has  no  caste ;  the  cliamar  knows  that  the  mehter 
has  none;  and  the  mehter  swears  by  Lai  Beg,  his  god, 
that  the  od,  whose  god  is  Bhagirat,  is  without  caste. 
Below  the  od  lies  the  kaparia-bawaria,  in  spite  of  all 
that  the  low-caste  Brahmins  say  or  do.  A  Teji  mehter 
or  a  Sundoo  mehter  is  as  much  above  a  kaparia-bawaria 
as  an  Englishman  is  above  a  mehter.  Lai  Beg  is  the 
Mehter-god.,  and  his  image  is  the  Glorified  Broom  made 
of  peacocks'  feathers,  red  cloth,  scraps  of  tinsel,  and  the 
cast-off  finery  of  English  toilette  tables. 

Jamuna  was  a  Malka-sansi  of  Gujrat,  an  eater  of 
lizards  and  dogs,  one  "  married  under  the  basket,"  a 
worshipper  of  Malang  Shah.  When  her  first  husband 


346  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

was  cast  into  the  Lahore  Central  Gaol  for  lifting  a  pony 
on  the  banks  of  the  Eavee,  Jamuna  cut  herself  adrift 
from  her  section  of  the  tribe  and  let  it  pass  on  to  Delhi. 
She  believed  that  the  government  would  keep  her  man 
for  two  or  three  days  only ;  but  it  kept  him  for  two 
years, —  long  enough  for  a  sansi  to  forget  everything  in 
this  world  except  the  customs  of  her  tribe.  Those  are 
never  forgotten. 

As  she  waited  for  the  return  of  her  man,  she  scraped 
acquaintance  with  a  mehtranee  ayah  in  the  employ  of  a 
Eurasian,  and  assisted  her  in  the  grosser  portions  of  her 
work.  She  also  earned  money, —  sufficient  money  to  buy 
her  a  cloth  and  food.  "The  sansi,"  as  one  of  their 
proverbs  says,  "will  thrive  in  a  desert."  "What  are 
you  ? "  said  the  mehtranee  to  Jamuna.  "  A  Boorat 
mehtranee"  said  Jamuna,  for  the  sansi,  as  one  of  their 
proverbs  says,  are  quick-witted  as  snakes.  "A  Boorat 
mehtranee  from  the  south,"  said  Jamuna  ;  and  her  state- 
ment was  not  questioned,  for  she  wore  good  clothes,  and 
her  black  hair  was  combed  and  neatly  parted. 

Clinging  to  the  skirts  of  the  Eurasian's  ayah,  Jamuna 
climbed  to  service  under  an  Englishman  —  a  railway  em- 
ploye's wife.  Jamuna  had  ambitions.  It  was  pleasant 
to  be  a  mehtranee  of  good  standing.  It  will  be  better 
still,  thought  Jamuna,  to  turn  Mussulman  and  be  mar- 
ried to  a  real  table-servant,  openly,  by  the  mullah.  Such 
things  had  been ;  and  Jamuna  was  fair. 

But  Jullundri,  mehter,  was  a  man  to  win  the  heart  of 
woman,  and  he  stole  away  Jamuna's  in  the  dusk,  when 
she  took  the  English  babies  for  their  walks. 

"  You  have  brought  me  a  stranger-wife.  Why  did  you 
not  marry  among  your  own  clan  ?  "  said  his  grey-haired 


THE  SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       347 

mother  to  Jullundri.  "  A  stranger-wife  is  a  curse  and 
a  fire."  Jullundri  laughed;  for  he  was  a  jemadar  of 
mehters,  drawing  seven  rupees  a  month,  and  Jamuna 
loved  him. 

"  A  curse  and  a  fire  and  a  shame,"  muttered  the  old 
woriian,  and  she  slunk  into  her  hut  and  cursed  Jamuna. 

But  Lai  Beg,  the  very  powerful  God  of  the  mehters, 
was  not  deceived,  and  he  put  a  stumbling-block  in  the 
path  of  Jamuna  that  brought  her  to  open  shame.  "A 
sansi  is  as  quick-witted  as  a  snake ; "  but  the  snake  longs 
for  the  cactus  hedge,  and  a  sansi  for  the  desolate  free- 
dom of  the  wild  ass.  Jamuna  knew  the  chant  of  Lai 
Beg,  the  prayer  to  the  Glorified  Broom,  and  had  sung  it 
many  times  in  rear  of  the  staggering,  tottering  pole  as 
it  was  borne  down  the  Mall.  Lai  Beg  was  insulted. 

His  great  festival  in  the  month  of  Har  brought  him 
revenge  on  Jamuna  and  Jullundri.  Husband  and  wife 
followed  the  Glorified  Broom,  through  the  station  and 
beyond,  to  the  desolate  grey  flats  by  the  river,  near  the 
Forest  Reserve  and  the  Bridge-of-Boats.  Two  hundred 
mehters  shouted  and  sang  till  their  voices  failed  them, 
and  they  halted  in  the  sand,  still  warm  with  the  day's 
sun.  On  a  spit  near  the  burning  ghdt,  a  band  of  sansis 
had  encamped,  and  one  of  their  number  had  brought  in 
a  ragged  bag  full  of  lizards  caught  on  the  Meean  Meer 
road.  The  gang  were  singing  over  their  captures,  sing- 
ing that  quaint  song  of  the  "Passing  of  the  Sansis," 
which  fires  the  blood  of  all  true  thieves. 

Over  the  sand  the  notes  struck  clearly  on  Jamuna's 
ear  as  the  Lai  Beg  procession  re-formed  and  moved  City- 
wards. But  louder  than  the  cry  of  worshippers  of  Lai 
Beg  rose  the  song  of  Jamuna,  the  sober  Boorat  meh- 


348  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

tranee,  and  mother  of  Jullundri's  children.  Shrill  as 
the  noise  of  the  night-wind  among  rocks  went  back  to 
the  sansi  camp  the  answer  of  the  "Passing  of  the 
Sansis"  and  the  mehters  drew  back  in  horror.  Bnt 
Jamuna  heard  only  the  call  from  the  ragged  huts  by  the 
river,  and  the  call  of  the  song  — 

"The  horses,  the  horses,  the  fat  horses,  and  the  sticks,  the  little 

sticks  of  the  tents.     Aho  I    Aho  f 
Feet  that  leave  no  mark  on  the  sand,  and  fingers  that  leave  no  trace 

on  the  door.     Aho  I    Aho  ! 
By  the  name  of  Malang  Shah ;  in  darkness,  by  the  reed  and  the 

rope.  .  .  ." 

So  far  Jamuna  sang,  but  the  head  man  of  the  proces- 
sion of  Lai  Beg  struck  her  heavily  across  the  mouth, 
saying,  "  By  this  I  know  that  thou  art  a  sansi." 

HUNTING  A  MIRACLE 

MARCHING-ORDERS  as  vague  as  the  following  naturally 
ended  in  confusion:  "There's  a  priest  somewhere,  in 
Amritsar  or  outside  it,  or  somewhere  else,  who  cut  off 
his  tongue  some  days  ago,  and  says  it's  grown  again.  Go 
and  look."  Amritsar  is  a  city  with  a  population  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  more  or  less,  and  so  huge 
that  a  tramway  runs  round  the  walls.  To  lay  hands  on 
one  particular  man  of  all  the  crowd  was  not  easy ;  for 
the  tongue  having  grown  again,  he  would  in  no  way 
differ  from  his  fellows.  Now,  had  he  remained  tongue- 
less,  an  inspection  of  the  mouths  of  the  passers-by 
would  have  been  some  sort  of  guide.  However,  dumb 
or  tongued,  all  Amritsar  knew  about  him.  The  small 
Parsee  boy,  who  appears  to  run  the  refreshment-room 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       349 

alone,  volunteered  the  startling  information  that  the 
"Priest  without  the  tongue  could  be  found  all  any- 
where, in  the  city  or  elsewhere,"  and  waved  his  little 
hands  in  circles  to  show  the  vastness  of  his  knowledge. 
A  booking-clerk  —  could  it  be  possible  that  he  was  of 
the  Arya-Samaj  ?  —  had  also  heard  of  the  Sadhu,  and, 
pen  in  hand,  denounced  him  as  an  impostor,  a  "bad 
person,"  and  a  "fraudulent  mendicant."  He  grew  so 
excited,  and  jabbed  his  pen  so  viciously  into  the  air 
that  his  questioner  fled  to  a  ticca-ghari,  where  he  was 
prompted  by  some  Imp  of  Perversity  to  simulate  extreme 
ignorance  of  the  language  to  deceive  the  driver.  So 
he  said  twice  with  emphasis,  "  Sadhu  ? "  "  Jehan," 
said  the  driver,  "  f  ush-class,  Durbar  Sahib !  "  Then  the 
fare  thrust  out  his  tongue,  and  the  scales  fell  from  the 
driver's  eyes.  "Bahut  accha"  said  the  driver,  and  with- 
out further  parley  headed  into  the  trackless  desert  that 
encircles  Fort  Govindghar.  The  Sahib's  word  conveyed 
no  meaning  to  him,  but  he  understood  the  gesture ;  and, 
after  a  while,  turned  the  carriage  from  a  road  to  a 
plain. 

Close  to  the  Lahore  Veterinary  School  lies  a  cool, 
brick-built,  tree-shaded  monastery,  studded  with  the 
tombs  of  the  pious  founders,  adorned  with  steps,  ter- 
races, and  winding  paths,  which  is  known  as  Chajju 
Bhagat's  Chubara.  This  place  is  possessed  with  the 
spirit  of  peace,  and  is  filled  by  priests  in  salmon-coloured 
loin-cloths  and  a  great  odour  of  sanctity.  The  Amritsar 
driver  had  halted  in  the  very  double  of  the  Lahore 
chubara  —  assuring  his  fare  that  here  and  nowhere  else 
would  be  found  the  Sadhu  with  the  miraculous  tongue. 

Indeed  the  surroundings  were  such  as  delight  the 


350  FKOM  SEA  TO  SEA 

holy  men  of  the  East.  There  was  a  sleepy  breeze 
through  the  pipals  overhead,  and  a  square  court 
crammed  with  pigeon-holes  where  one  might  sleep ; 
there  were  fair  walls  and  mounds  and  little  mud-plat- 
forms against  or  on  which  fires  for  cooking  could  be 
built,  and  there  were  wells  by  the  dozen.  There  were 
priests  by  the  score  who  sprang  out  of  the  dust,  and  slid 
off  balconies  or  rose  from  cots  as  inquiries  were  made 
for  the  Sadhu.  They  were  nice  priests,  sleek,  full-fed, 
thick-jowled  beasts,  undefiled  by  wood-ash  or  turmeric, 
and  mostly  good-looking.  The  older  men  sang  songs  to 
the  squirrels  and  the  dust-puffs  that  the  light  wind  was 
raising  on  the  plain.  They  were  idle  —  very  idle.  The 
younger  priests  stated  that  the  Sadhu  with  the  tongue 
had  betaken  himself  to  another  chubara  some  miles 
away,  and  was  even  then  being  worshipped  by  hordes 
of  admirers.  They  did  not  specify  the  exact  spot,  but 
pointed  vaguely  in  the  direction  of  Jandiala.  However, 
the  driver  said  he  knew  and  made  haste  to  depart.  The 
priests  pointed  out  courteously  that  the  weather  was 
warm,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to  rest  awhile  before 
starting.  So  a  rest  was  called,  and  while  he  sat  in  the 
shadow  of  the  gate  of  the  courtyard,  the  Englishman 
realised  for  a  few  minutes  why  it  is  that,  now  and  then, 
men  of  his  race,  suddenly  going  mad,  turn  to  the  people 
of  this  land  and  become  their  priests ;  as  did  — —  on  the 

Bombay  side,  and  later ,  who  lived  for  a  time  with 

the  fakir  on  the  top  of  Jakko.  The  miraculous  idleness 
—  the  monumental  sloth  of  the  place ;  the  silence  as  the 
priests  settled  down  to  sleep  one  by  one;  the  drowsy 
drone  of  one  of  the  younger  men  who  had  thrown  him- 
self stomach-down  in  the  warm  dust  and  was  singing 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTBATION       351 

under  his  breath ;  the  warm  airs  from  across  the  plain 
and  the  faint  smell  of  burnt  ghi  and  incense,  laid  hold 
of  the  mind  and  limbs  till,  for  at  least  fifteen  seconds, 
it  seemed  that  life  would  be  a  good  thing  if  one  could 
.  doze,  and  bask,  and  smoke  from  the  rising  of  the  sun 
till  the  twilight  —  a  fat  hog  among  fat  hogs. 

The  chase  was  resumed,  and  the  ghari  drove  to  Jan- 
diala  —  more  or  less.  It  abandoned  the  main  roads 
completely,  although  it  was  a  "  fush-class,"  and  com- 
ported itself  like  an  ekka,  till  Amritsar  sunk  on  the 
horizon,  or  thereabouts,  and  it  pulled  up  at  a  second 
chubara,  more  peaceful  and  secluded  than  the  first,  and 
fenced  with  a  thicker  belt  of  trees.  There  was  an  erup- 
tion under  the  horses'  feet  and  a  scattering  of  dust, 
which  presently  settled  down  and  showed  a  beautiful 
young  man  with  a  head  such  as  artists  put  on  the 
shoulders  of  Belial.  It  was  the  head  of  an  unlicked 
devil,  marvellously  handsome,  and  it  made  the  horses 
shy.  Belial  knew  nothing  of  the  Sadhu  who  had  cut 
out  the  tongue.  He  scowled  at  the  driver,  scowled  at 
the  fare,  and  then  settled  down  in  the  dust,  laughing 
wildly,  and  pointing  to  the  earth  and  the  sky.  Now  for 
a  native  to  laugh  aloud,  without  reason,  publicly  and  at 
high  noon,  is  a  grewsome  thing  and  calculated  to  chill 
the  blood.  Even  the  sight  of  silver  coinage  had  no 
effect  on  Belial.  He  dilated  his  nostrils,  pursed  his 
lips,  and  gave  himself  up  to  renewed  mirth.  As  there 
seemed  to  be  no  one  else  in  the  chubara,  the  carriage 
drove  away,  pursued  by  the  laughter  of  the  Beau- 
tiful Young  Man  in  the  Dust.  A  priest  was  caught 
wandering  on  the  road,  but  for  long,  he  denied  all 
knowledge  of  the  Sadhu.  In  vain  the  Englishman  pro- 


352  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

tested  that  lie  came  as  a  humble  believer  in  cold  tongue ; 
that  he  carried  an  offering  of  rupees  for  the  Sadhu; 
that  he  regarded  the  Sadhu  as  one  of  the  leading  men 
of  the  century,  and  would  render  him  immortal  for  at 
least  twelve  hours.  The  priest  was  dumb.  He  was 
next  bribed  —  extortionately  bribed  —  and  said  that  the 
Sadhu  was  at  the  Durbar  Sahib  preaching.  To  the 
Golden  Temple  accordingly  the  carriage  went  and  found 
the  regular  array  of  ministers  and  the  eternal  passage  of 
Sikh  women  round  and  round  the  Grunth ;  which  things 
have  been  more  than  once  described  in  this  paper.  But 
there  was  no  Sadhu.  An  old  Niliang,  grey-haired  and 
sceptical — for  he  had  lived  some  thirty  years  in  a 
church  as  it  were  —  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the 
tank,  dabbling  his  feet  in  the  water.  "0  Sahib,"  said 
he,  blandly,  "  what  concern  have  you  with  a  miraculous 
Sadhu?  You  are  not  a  Poliswala.  And,  0  Sahib,  what 
concern  has  the  Sadhu  with  you?"  The  Englishman 
explained  with  heat  —  for  fruitless  drives  in  the  middle 
of  an  October  day  are  trying  to  the  temper  —  his  adven- 
tures at  the  various  chubaras,  not  omitting  the  incident 
of  the  Beautiful  Young  Man  in  the  Dust.  The  Niliang 
smiled  shrewdly:  "Without  doubt,  Sahib,  these  men 
have  told  you  lies.  They  do  not  want  you  to  see  the 
Sadhu;  and  the  Sadhu  does  not  desire  to  see  you.  This 
affair  is  an  affair  for  the  common  people  and  not  for 
Sahibs.  The  honour  of  the  Gods  is  increased ;  but  you 
do  not  worship  the  Gods."  So  saying  he  gravely  began 
to  undress  and  waddled  into  the  water. 

Then  the  Englishman  perceived  that  he  had  been 
basely  betrayed  by  the  </7ian'-driver,  and  all  the  priests 
of  the  first  chubara,  and  the  wandering  priest  near  the 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       353 

second  chubara;  and  that  the  only  sensible  person  was 
the  Beautiful  Young  Man  in  the  Dust,  and  he  was  mad. 

This  vexed  the  Englishman,  and  he  came  away.  If 
Sadhus  cut  out  their  tongues  and  if  the  great  Gods  re- 
store them,  the  devotees  might  at  least  have  the  decency 
to  be  interviewed. 

THE  EXPLANATION  OF  MIR  BAKSH 

"  My  notion  was  that  you  had  been 
(Before  they  had  this  fit) 
An  obstacle  that  came  between 
Him  and  ourselves  and  it." 

"  That's  the  most  important  piece  of  evidence  we've  heard  yet," 
said  the  king,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  So  now  let  the  jury  ..." 

"  If  any  one  of  them  can  explain  it,"  said  Alice,  "  I'll  give  him 
sixpence,  /don't  believe  there's  an  atom  of  meaning  in  it." 

—  Alice  in  Wonderland. 

THIS,  Protector  of  the  Poor,  is  the  hissab  (your  bill  of 
house  expenses)  for  last  month  and  a  little  bit  of  the 
month  before,  —  eleven  days,  —  and  this,  I  think,  is 
what  it  will  be  next  month.  Is  it  a  long  bill  in  five 
sheets  ?  Assuredly  yes,  Sahib.  Are  the  accounts  of  so 
honourable  a  house  as  the  house  of  the  Sahib  to  be 
kept  on  one  sheet  only  ?  This  hissab  cost  one  rupee 
to  write.  It  is  true  that  the  Sahib  will  pay  the  one 
rupee;  but  consider  how  beautiful  and  how  true  is 
the  account,  and  how  clean  is  the  paper.  Ibrahim,  who 
is  the  very  best  petition-writer  in  all  the  bazaar,  drew 
it  up.  Ahoo !  Such  an  account  is  this  account !  And 
I  am  to  explain  it  all  ?  Is  it  not  written  there  in  the 
red  ink,  and  the  black  ink,  and  the  green  ink  ?  What 
more  does  the  Heaven-born  want  ?  Ibrahim,  who  is  the 
best  of  all  the  petition-writers  in  the  bazaar,  made  this 

VOL,  IX  —  2  A 


354  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

hissab.  There  is  an  envelope  also.  Shall  I  fetch  that 
envelope?  Ibrahim  has  written  your  name  outside  in 
three  inks  —  a  very  murasla  is  this  envelope.  An  expla- 
nation ?  Ahoo !  God  is  my  witness  that  it  is  as  plain 
as  the  sun  at  noon.  By  your  Honour's  permission  I  will 
explain,  taking  the  accounts  in  my  hand. 

Now  there  are  four  accounts  —  that  for  last  month, 
which  is  in  red;  that  for  the  month  before,  which  is  in 
black ;  that  for  the  month  to  come,  which  is  in  green ; 
and  an  account  of  private  expense  and  dispens,  which  is 
in  pencil.  Does  the  Presence  understand  that?  Very 
good  talk. 

There  was  the  bread,  and  the  milk,  and  the  cow's  food, 
and  both  horses,  and  the  saddle-soap  for  last  month, 
which  is  in  green  ink.  No,  red  ink  —  the  Presence  speaks 
the  truth.  It  was  red  ink,  and  it  was  for  last  month,  and 
that  was  fifty-seven  rupees  eight  annas;  but  there  was 
the  cost  of  a  new  manger  for  the  cow,  to  be  sunk  into 
mud,  and  that  was  eleven  annas.  But  I  did  not  put  that 
into  the  last  month's  account.  I  carried  that  over  to 
this  month  —  the  green  ink.  No?  There  is  no  account 
for  this  month  ?  Your  Honour  speaks  the  truth.  Those 
eleven  annas  I  carried  thus  —  in  my  head. 

The  Sahib  has  said  it  is  not  a  matter  of  eleven  annas, 
but  of  seventy-seven  rupees.  That  is  quite  true ;  but,  0 
Sahib,  if  I,  and  Ibrahim,  who  is  the  best  petition-writer 
in  the  bazaar,  do  not  attend  to  the  annas,  how  shall  your 
substance  increase  ?  So  the  food  and  the  saddle-soap 
for  the  cows  and  the  other  things  were  fifty -seven  rupees 
eight  annas,  and  the  servants'  wages  were  a  hundred  and 
ten  —  all  for  last  month.  And  now  I  must  think,  for 
this  is  a  large  account  Oh  yes !  It  was  in  Jeth  that 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTBATION       355 

I  spoke  to  the  Dhobi  about  the  washing,  and  he  said, 
"  my  bill  will  be  eleven  rupees  two  pies."  It  is  written 
there  in  the  green  ink,  and  that,  in  addition  to  the 
soap  was  sixty-eight  rupees,  seven  annas,  two  pies. 
All  of  last  month.  And  the  hundred  and  ten  rupees 
for  the  servants'  wages  make  the  total  to  one  hundred 
and  seventy-eight  rupees,  seven  annas,  two  pies,  as 
Ibrahim,  who  is  the  best  petition-writer  in  the  bazaar, 
has  set  down. 

But  I  said  that  all  things  would  only  be  one  hundred 
and  fifty  ?  Yes.  That  was  at  first,  Sahib,  before  I  was 
well  aware  of  all  things.  Later  on,  it  will  be  in  the 
memory  of  the  Presence  that  I  said  it  would  be  one 
hundred  and  ninety.  But  that  was  before  I  had  spoken 
to  the  Dhobi.  No,  it  was  before  I  had  bought  the  trunk- 
straps  for  which  you  gave  orders.  I  remember  that  I 
said  it  would  be  one  hundred  and  ninety.  Why  is  the 
Sahib  so  hot?  Is  not  the  account  long  enough?  I 
know  always  what  the  expense  of  the  house  would  be. 
Let  the  Presence  follow  my  finger.  That  is  the  green 
ink,  that  is  the  black,  here  is  the  red,  and  there  is  the 
pencil-mark  of  the  private  expenses.  To  this  I  add  what 
I  said  six  weeks  ago  before  I  had  bought  the  trunk-straps 
by  your  order.  And  so  that  is  a  fifth  account.  Very 
good  talk  !  The  Presence  has  seen  what  happened  last 
month,  and  I  will  now  show  the  month  before  last,  and 
the  month  that  is  to  come  —  together  in  little  brackets ; 
the  one  bill  balancing  to  the  other  like  swinging  scales. 

Thus  runs  the  account  of  the  month  before  last :  —  A 
box  of  matches  three  pies,  and  black  thread  for  buttons 
three  annas  (it  was  the  best  black  thread),  Mas-Mas  for 
the  tatties  twelve  annas;  and  the  other  things  forty-one 


356  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

rupees.  To  which  that  of  the  month  to  come  had  an 
answer  in  respect  to  the  candles  for  the  dog-cart ;  but  I 
did  not  know  how  much  these  would  cost,  and  I  have 
written  one  rupee  two  annas,  for  they  are  always  chang- 
ing their  prices  in  the  bazaar.  And  the  oil  for  the 
carriage  is  one  rupee,  and  the  other  things  are  forty-one 
rupees,  and  that  is  for  the  next  month. 

An  explanation  ?  Still  an  explanation  ?  Khuda-Tca- 
kusm,  have  I  not  explained  and  has  not  Ibrahim,  who 
is  notoriously  the  best  petition-writer  in  the  bazaar,  put 
it  down  in  the  red  ink,  and  the  green  ink,  and  the 
black ;  and  is  there  not  the  private  dispens  account, 
withal,  showing  what  should  have  been  but  which  fell  out 
otherwise,  and  what  might  have  been  but  could  not  ? 

Ai,  Sahib,  what  can  I  do  ?  It  is  perhaps  a  something 
heavy  bill,  but  there  were  reasons;  and  let  the  Presence 
consider  that  the  Dhobi  lived  at  the  ghat  over  against 
the  river,  and  I  had  to  go  there  —  two  kos,  upon  my 
faith  !  —  to  get  his  bill ;  and,  moreover,  the  horses  were 
shod  at  the  hospital,  and  that  was  a  kos  away,  and  the 
Hospital  Babu  was  late  in  rendering  his  accounts.  Does 
the  Sahib  say  that  I  should  know  how  the  accounts  will 
fall  —  not  only  for  the  month  before  last,  but  for  this 
month  as  well  ?  I  do  —  I  did  —  I  will  do !  Is  it  my 
fault  that  more  rupees  have  gone  than  I  knew  ?  The 
Sahib  laughs!  Forty  years  I  have  been  a  Jchansamah 
to  the  Sahib-log  —  from  masalchi  to  mate,  and  head 
khansamah  have  I  risen  (smites  himself  on  the  breast], 
and  never  have  I  been  laughed  at  before.  Why  does 
the  Sahib  laugh  ?  By  the  blessed  Imams,  my  uncle  was 
cook  to  Jan  Larens,  and  I  am  a  priest  at  the  Musjid; 
and  I  am  laughed  at?  Sahib,  seeing  that  there  were 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTBATION        357 

so  many  bills  to  come  in,  and  that  the  Dhobi  lived  at 
the  ghat  as  I  have  said,  and  the  Horse  hospital  was  a 
kos  away,  and  God  only  knows  where  the  sweeper  lived, 
but  his  account  came  late  also,  it  is  not  strange  that  I 
should  be  a  little  stupid  as  to  my  accounts,  whereof 
there  are  so  many.  For  the  Dhobi  was  at  the  ghat,  etc. 
Forty  years  have  I  been  a  khansamah,  and  there  is  no 
Jchansamah  who  could  have  kept  his  accounts  so  well. 
Only  by  my  great  and  singular  regard  for  the  welfare 
of  the  Presence  does  it  come  about  that  they  are  not  a 
hundred  rupees  wrong.  For  the  Dhobi  was  at  the  ghat, 
etc.  And  I  will  not  be  laughed  at !  The  accounts  are 
beautiful  accounts,  and  only  I  could  have  kept  them. 


Sahib  —  Sahib  I  Garibparwar  !  I  have  been  to  Ibra- 
him, who  is  the  best  petition-writer  in  the  bazaar,  and 
he  has  written  all  that  I  have  said  —  all  that  the  Sahib 
could  not  understand  —  upon  pink  paper  from  Sialkot. 
So  now  there  are  the  five  accounts  and  the  explanation ; 
and  for  the  writing  of  all  six  you,  0  Sahib,  must  pay ! 
But  for  my  honour's  sake  do  not  laugh  at  me  any  more. 

A  LETTER  FROM  GOLAM  SINGH 

From  Golam  Singh,  Mistri,  Landin,  Belait,  to  Ram  Singh, 
Mistri,  son  of  Jeewun  Singh,  in  the  town  of  Rajah 
Jung,  in  the  tehsil  of  Kasur,  in  the  district  of  Lahore, 
in  the  Province  of  the  Punjab. 

Wah  Gooroojee  ki  futteh. 

CALL  together  now  our  friends  and  brothers,  and  our 
children  and  the  Lambardar,  to  the  big  square  by  the 


358 

well.  Say  that  I,  Golam  Singh,  have  written  you  a  letter 
across  the  Black  Water,  and  let  the  town  hear  of  the 
wonders  which  I  have  seen  in  Belait.  Button  Singh, 
the  bunnia,  who  has  been  to  Delhi,  will  tell  you,  my 
brother,  that  I  am  a  liar;  but  I  have  witnesses  of  our 
faith,  besides  the  others,  who  will  attest  when  we  return 
what  I  have  written. 

I  have  now  been  many  days  in  Belait,  in  this  big  city. 
Though  I  were  to  write  till  my  hand  fell  from  my  wrist, 
I  could  not  state  its  bigness.  I  myself  know  that,  to  see 
one  another,  the  Sahib-log,  of  whom  there  are  crores  of 
crores,  use  the  railway  d&k,  which  is  laid  not  above  the 
ground  as  is  the  SirJcar's  railway  in  our  own  country, 
but  underneath  it,  below  the  houses.  I  have  gone  down 
myself  into  this  rail  together  with  the  other  witnesses. 
The  air  is  very  bad  in  those  places,  and  this  is  why  the 
Sahib-log  have  become  white. 

There  are  more  people  here  than  I  have  ever  seen. 
Ten  times  as  many  as  there  are  at  Delhi,  and  they  are 
all  Sahibs  who  do  us  great  honour.  Many  hundred 
Sahibs  have  been  in  our  country,  and  they  all  speak  to 
us,  asking  if  we  are  pleased. 

In  this  city  the  streets  run  for  many  miles  in  a  straight 
line,  and  are  so  broad  that  four  bullock-carts  of  four  bul- 
locks might  stand  side  by  side.  At  night  they  are  lit 
with  English  lamps,  which  need  no  oil,  but  are  fed  by 
wind  which  burns.  I  and  the  others  have  seen  this. 
By  day  sometimes  the  sun  does  not  shine,  and  the  city 
becomes  black.  Then  these  lamps  are  lit  all  day  and 
men  go  to  work. 

The  bazaars  are  three  times  as  large  as  our  bazaars, 
and  the  shopkeepers,  who  are  all  Sahibs,  sit  inside  where 


THE  SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       359 

they  cannot  be  seen,  but  their  name  is  written  cmtside. 
There  are  no  bunnia's  shops,  and  all  the  prices  are 
written.  If  the  price  is  high,  it  cannot  be  lowered  ;  nor 
will  the  shopkeeper  bargain  at  all.  This  is  very  strange. 
But  I  have  witnesses. 

One  shop  I  have  seen  was  twice  as  large  as  Rajah 
Jung.  It  held  hundreds  of  shopkeeper-sahibs  and  mem- 
sahibs,  and  thousands  who  come  to  buy.  The  Sahib-log 
speak  one  talk  when  they  purchase  their  bazaar,  and  they 
make  no  noise. 

There  are  no  ekkas  here,  but  there  are  yellow  and 
green  ticca-gharies  bigger  than  Rutton  Singh's  house, 
holding  half  a  hundred  people.  The  horses  here  are 
as  big  as  elephants.  I  have  seen  no  ponies,  and  there 
are  no  buffaloes. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  Sahibs  use  the  belaitee  punkah 
(the  thermantidote)  like  as  you  and  I  made  for  the 
Dipty  Sahib  two  years  ago.  The  air  is  cold,  and  there 
are  neither  coolies  nor  verandahs.  Nor  do  the  Sahibs 
drink  belaitee  panee  (soda-water)  when  they  are  thirsty. 
They  drink  water  —  very  clean  and  good  —  as  we  do. 

In  this  city  there  are  plains  so  vast  that  they  appear 
like  jungle ;  but  when  you  have  crossed  them  you  come 
again  to  lakhs  of  houses,  and  there  are  houses  on  all 
sides.  None  of  the  houses  are  of  mud  or  wood,  but 
all  are  in  brick  or  stone.  Some  have  carved  doors 
in  stone,  but  the  carving  is  very  bad.  Even  the  door 
of  Rutton  Singh's  house  is  better  carved;  but  Rutton 
Singh's  house  could  be  put  into  any  fore-court  of  these 
belaitee  houses.  They  are  as  big  as  mountains. 

No  one  sleeps  outside  his  house  or  in  the  road.  This 
is  thought  shameless;  but  it  is  very  strange  to  see, 


360  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

There  are  no  flat  roofs  to  the  houses.  They  are  all 
pointed;  I  have  seen  this  and  so  have  the  others. 

In  this  city  there  are  so  many  carriages  and  horses  in 
the  street  that  a  man,  to  cross  over,  must  call  a  police- 
wallah,  who  puts  up  his  hand,  and  the  carriages  stop.  I 
swear  to  you  by  our  father  that  on  account  of  me,  Golam 
Singh  mistri,  all  the  carriages  of  many  streets  have  been 
stopped  that  I  might  cross  like  a  Padshah.  Let  Rutton 
Singh  know  this. 

In  this  city  for  four  annas  you  may  send  news  faster 
than  the  wind  over  four  hundred  Jcos.  There  are  wit- 
nesses ;  and  I  have  a  paper  of  the  Government  showing 
that  this  is  true. 

In  this  city  our  honour  is  very  great,  and  we  have 
learned  to  shekand  like  the  Sahib-logue.  All  the  mem- 
sahibs,  who  are  very  beautiful,  look  at  us,  but  we  do  not 
understand  their  talk.  These  memsahibs  are  like  the 
memsahibs  in  our  country. 

In  this  city  there  are  a  hundred  dances  every  night. 
The  houses  where  they  nautch  hold  many  thousand 
people,  and  the  nautch  is  so  wonderful  that  I  cannot 
describe  it.  The  Sahibs  are  a  wonderful  people.  They 
can  make  a  sea  upon  dry  land,  and  then  a  fire,  and  then 
a  big  fort  with  soldiers  —  all  in  half  an  hour  while  you 
look.  The  other  men  will  say  this  too,  for  they  also 
saw  what  I  saw  at  one  of  the  nautches. 

Rutton  Singh's  son,  who  has  become  a  pleader,  has  said 
that  the  Sahibs  are  only  men  like  us  black  men.  This 
is  a  lie,  for  they  know  more  than  we  know.  I  will  tell. 
When  we  people  left  Bombay  for  Belait,  we  came  upon 
the  Black  Water,  which  you  cannot  understand.  For 
five  days  we  saw  only  the  water,  as  flat  as  a  planed  board 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION        361 

with  no  marks  on  it.  Yet  the  Captain  Sahib  in  charge 
of  the  fire-boat  said,  from  the  first,  "  In  five  days  we  shall 
reach  a  little  town,  and  in  four  more  a  big  canal."  These 
things  happened  as  he  had  said,  though  there  was  nothing 
to  point  the  road,  and  the  little  town  was  no  bigger  than 
the  town  of  Lod.  We  came  there  by  night,  and  yet  the 
Captain  Sahib  knew !  How,  then,  can  Rutton  Singh's 
son  say  such  lies?  I  have  seen  this  city  in  which  are 
crores  of  crores  of  people.  There  is  no  end  to  its  houses 
and  its  shops,  for  I  have  never  yet  seen  the  open  jungle. 
There  is  nothing  hidden  from  these  people.  They  can 
turn  the  night  into  day  [I  have  seen  it],  and  they  never 
rest  from  working.  It  is  true  that  they  do  not  under- 
stand carpenter's  work,  but  all  other  things  they  under- 
stand, as  I  and  the  people  with  me  have  seen.  They 
are  no  common  people. 

Bid  our  father's  widow  see  to  my  hoiise  and  little 
Golam  Singh's  mother;  for  I  return  in  some  months,  and 
I  have  bought  many  wonderful  things  in  this  country, 
the  like  of  which  you  have  never  seen.  But  your  minds 
are  ignorant,  and  you  will  say  I  am  a  liar.  I  shall, 
therefore,  bring  my  witnesses  to  humble  Rutton  Singh, 
bunnia,  who  went  to  Delhi,  and  who  is  an  owl  and  the 
son  of  an  owl. 

AP-KI-DAS,  GOLAM  SINGH. 


362  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

THE  WRITING  OF  YAKUB  KHAN 

From  YaJcub  Khan,  Kuki  Kliel,  of  Lola  China,  Malik, 
in  the  Englishman's  City  of  Calcutta  ivith  Vahbtahn 
Sahib,  to  Katal  Khan,  Kuki  Khel,  of  Lala  China, 
which  is  in  the  Khaibar.  This  letter  to  go  by  the 
Sirkar's  mail  to  Pubbi,  and  thence  Malibub  Ali,  the 
writer,  takes  delivery  and,  if  God  pleases,  gives  to  my 
son. 

Also,  for  my  heart  is  clean,  this  writing  goes  on  to  Sultan 
Khan,  on  the  upper  hill  over  against  Kuka  Ghoz,  which 
is  in  Bara,  through  the  country  of  the  Zuka  Khel. 
Malibub  Ali  goes  through  if  God  pleases. 

To  My  Son.  —  Know  this.  I  have  come  with  the  others 
and  Vahbtahn  (Warburton)  Sahib,  as  was  agreed,  down  to 
the  river,  and  the  rail-dak  does  not  stop  at  Attock.  Thus 
the  Mullah  of  Tordurra  lied.  Remember  this  when  next 
he  comes  for  food.  The  rail-dak  goes  on  for  many  days. 
The  others  who  came  with  me  are  witnesses  to  this. 
Fifteen  times,  for  there  was  but  little  to  do  in  the  dak,  I 
made  all  the  prayers  from  the  niyah  to  the  munajat,  and 
yet  the  journey  was  not  ended.  And  at  the  places  where 
we  stopped  there  were  often  to  be  seen  the  fighting-men 
of  the  English,  such  as  those  we  killed,  when  certain 
of  our  men  went  with  the  Bonerwals  in  the  matter  of 
Urubeyla,  whose  guns  I  have  in  my  house.  Everywhere 
there  were  fighting-men;  but  it  may  be  that  the  Eng- 
lish were  afraid  of  us,  and  so  drew  together  all  their 
troops  upon  the  line  of  the  rail-dak  and  the  fire-carriage. 
Vahbtahn  Sahib  is  a  very  clever  man,  and  he  may  have 
given  the  order.  None  the  less,  there  must  be  many 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTKATION       363 

troops  in  this  country;  more  than  all  the  strength  of 
the  Afridis.  But  Yar  Khan  says  that  all  the  land,  which 
runs  to  the  east  and  to  the  west  many  days'  journey  in 
the  rail-dak,  is  also  full  of  fighting-men,  and  big  guns 
by  the  score.  Our  Mullahs  gave  us  no  news  of  this 
when  they  said  that,  in  the  matter  of  six  years  gone, 
there  were  no  more  English  in  the  land,  all  having  been 
sent  to  Afghanistan,  and  that  the  country  was  rising 
in  fire  behind  them.  Tell  the  Mullah  of  Tordurra  the 
words  of  Yar  Khan.  He  has  lied  in  respect  to  the  rail- 
dak,  and  it  may  be  that  he  will  now  speak  the  truth 
regarding  what  his  son  saw  when  he  went  to  Delhi  with 
the  horses.  I  have  asked  many  men  for  news  of  the 
strength  of  the  fighting-men  in  this  country,  and  all  say 
that  it  is  very  great.  Howbeit,  Vahbtalm  Sahib  is  a 
clever  man  and  may  have  told  them  to  speak  thus,  as  I 
told  the  women  of  Sikanderkhelogarhi  to  speak  when  we 
were  pressed  by  the  Sangu  Khel,  in  that  night  when  you, 
my  son,  took  Torukh  Khan's  head,  and  I  saw  that  I  had 
bred  a  man. 

If  there  be  as  many  men  throughout  the  place  as  I 
have  seen  and  the  people  say,  the  mouth  of  the  Khaibar 
is  shut,  and  it  were  better  to  give  no  heed  to  our  Mullahs. 
But  read  further  and  see  for  what  reasons  I,  Avho  am  a 
Malak  of  the  Kuki  Khel,  say  this.  I  have  come  through 
many  cities  —  all  larger  than  Cabul.  Kawal  Pindi, 
which  is  far  beyond  the  Attock,  whence  came  all  the 
English  who  fought  us  in  the  business  of  six  years 
gone.  That  is  a  great  city,  filled  with  fighting-men  — 
four  thousand  of  both  kinds,  and  guns.  Lahore  is 
also  a  great  city,  with  another  four  thousand  troops, 
and  that  is  one  night  by  the  rail-dak  from  Eawal  Pindi. 


364  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

Amritsar  has  a  strong  fort,  but  I  do  not  know  how  many 
men  are  there.  The  words  of  the  people  who  go  down 
with  the  grapes  and  the  almonds  in  the  winter  are  true, 
and  our  Mullahs  have  lied  to  us.  Jullundur  is  also 
a  place  of  troops,  and  there  is  a  fort  at  Phillour,  and 
there  are  many  thousand  men  at  Umballa,  which  is  one 
night,  going  very  swiftly  in  the  rail-dak,  from  Lahore. 
And  at  Meerut,  which  is  half  a  day  from  Umballa,  there 
are  more  men  and  horses ;  and  at  Delhi  there  are  more 
also,  in  a  very  strong  fort.  Our  people  go  only  as  far 
south  as  Delhi;  but  beyond  Delhi  there  are  no  more 
strong  Punjabi  people  —  but  only  a  mean  race  without 
strength.  The  country  is  very  rich  here,  flat,  with 
cattle  and  crops.  We,  of  the  villages  of  the  Khaibar 
alone,  could  loot  these  people ;  but  there  are  more  fight- 
ing-men at  Agra,  and  at  Cawnpore,  and  at  Allahabad, 
and  many  other  places,  whose  names  do  not  stay  with 
me.  Thus,  my  son,  by  day  and  by  night,  always  going 
swiftly  in  the  rail-dak  we  came  down  to  this  very  big 
city  of  Calcutta. 

My  mouth  dripped  when  I  saw  the  place  that  they  call 
Bengal  —  so  rich  it  was;  and  my  heart  was  troubled 
when  I  saw  how  many  of  the  English  were  there.  The 
land  is  very  strongly  held,  and  there  are  a  multitude  of 
English  and  half-English  in  the  place.  They  give  us 
great  honour,  but  all  men  regard  us  as  though  we  were 
strange  beasts,  and  not  fighting-men  with  hundreds  of 
guns.  If  Yar  Khan  has  spoken  truth  and  the  land 
throughout  is  as  I  have  seen,  and  no  show  has  been 
made  to  fill  us  with  fear,  I,  Yakub  Khan,  tell  you,  my 
son,  and  you,  0  Sultan  Khan!  that  the  English  do  well 
to  thus  despise  us ;  for  on  the  Oath  of  a  Pathan,  we  are 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTEATION       3G5 

only  beasts  in  their  sight.  It  may  be  that  Vahbtahn 
Sahib  has  told  them  all  to  look  at  us  in  this  manner  — 
for,  though  we  receive  great  honour,  no  man  shows 
fear,  and  busies  himself  with  his  work  when  we  have 
passed  by.  Even  that  very  terrible  man,  the  Governor 
of  Cabul,  would  be  as  no  one  in  this  great  City  of  Cal- 
cutta. Were  I  to  write  what  I  have  seen,  all  our 
people  would  say  that  I  was  mad  and  a  liar.  But  this 
I  will  write  privately,  that  only  you,  my  son,  and 
Sultan  Khan  may  see;  for  ye  know  that,  in  respect 
to  my  own  blood,  I  am  no  liar.  There  are  lights  with- 
out  oil  or  wood  burning  brightly  in  this  city;  and  on 
the  water  of  the  river  lie  boats  which  go  by  fire,  as  the 
rail-dak  goes,  carrying  men  and  fighting-men  by  two  and 
three  thousand.  God  knows  whence  they  come!  They 
travel  by  water,  and  therefore  there  must  be  yet  another 
country  to  the  eastward  full  of  fighting-men.  I  cannot 
make  clear  how  these  things  are.  Every  day  more  boats 
come.  I  do  not  think  that  this  is  arranged  by  Vahbtahn 
Sahib ;  for  no  man  in  those  boats  takes  any  notice  of  us ; 
and  we  feel,  going  to  and  from  every  place,  that  we  are 
children.  When  that  Kaffir  came  to  us,  three  years 
agone,  is  it  in  thy  memory  how,  before  we  shot  him, 
we  looked  on  him  for  a  show,  and  the  children  came  out 
and  laughed?  In  this  place  no  children  laugh  at  us; 
but  none  the  less  do  we  feel  that  we  are  all  like  that 
man  from  Kafirstan. 

In  the  matter  of  our  safe-conduct,  be  at  ease.  We 
are  with  Vahbtahn  Sahib,  and  his  word  is  true.  More- 
over, as  we  said  in  the  jirgah,  we  have  been  brought 
down  to  see  the  richness  of  the  country,  and  for  that 
reason  they  will  do  us  no  harm.  I  cannot  tell  why  they, 


366  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

being  so  strong, —  if  these  things  be  not  all  arranged  by 
Vahbtahn  Sahib, — took  any  trouble  for  us.  Yar  Khan, 
whose  heart  has  become  so  soft  within  him  in  three  days, 
says  that  the  louse  does  not  kill  the  Af  ridi,  but  none  the 
less  the  Afridi  takes  off  his  upper-coat  for  the  itching. 
This  is  a  bitter  saying,  and  I,  0  my  son,  and  0  my 
friend  Sultan  Khan,  am  hard  upon  believing  it. 

I  put  this  charge  upon  you.  Whatever  the  Mullah  of 
Tordurra  may  say,  both  respecting  the  matter  that  we 
know  of,  which  it  is  not  prudent  to  write,  and  respect- 
ing the  going-out  in  spring  against  the  Sangu  Khel,  do 
you,  my  son,  and  you,  Sultan  Khan,  keep  the  men  of  the 
Khaibar  villages,  and  the  men  of  the  Upper  Bara,  still, 
till  I  return  and  can  speak  with  my  mouth.  The  blood- 
feuds  are  between  man  and  man,  and  these  must  go  for- 
ward by  custom ;  but  let  there  be  no  more  than  single 
shots  fired.  We  will  speak  together,  and  ye  will  dis- 
cover that  my  words  are  good.  I  would  give  hope  if  I 
could,  but  I  cannot  give  hope.  Yar  Khan  says  that  it 
were  well  to  keep  to  the  blood-feuds  only ;  and  he  hath 
said  openly  among  us,  in  the  smoking-time,  that  he  has  a 
fear  of  the  English,  greater  than  any  fear  of  the  curses 
of  our  Mullahs.  Ye  know  that  I  am  a  man  unafraid. 
Ye  knew  when  I  cut  down  the  Malik  of  the  Sipah  Khel, 
when  he  came  into  Kadam,  that  I  was  a  man  unafraid. 
But  this  is  no  matter  of  one  man's  life,  or  the  lives  of  a 
hundred,  or  a  thousand ;  and  albeit  I  cursed  Yar  Khan 
with  the  others,  yet  in  my  heart  I  am  afraid  even  as 
he  is.  If  these  English,  and  God  knows  where  their 
homes  lie,  for  they  come  from  a  strange  place,  we  do 
not  know  how  strong  in  fighting-men, — if,  0  my  son, 
and  friend  of  my  heart  Sultan  Khan,  these  devils  can 


thus  fill  the  land  over  four  days'  journey  by  this  very 
swift  rail-dak  from  Peshawar,  and  can  draw  white  light, 
as  bright  as  the  sun,  from  iron  poles,  and  can  send  fire- 
boats  full  of  men  from  the  east,  and  moreover,  as  I  have 
seen,  can  make  new  rupees  as  easily  as  women  make 
caw-dung  cakes,  —  what  can  the  Afridis  do? 

The  Mullah  of  Tordurra  said  that  they  came  from  the 
west,  and  that  their  rail-dak  stopped  at  Attock,  and  that 
there  were  none  of  them  except  those  who  came  into  our 
country  in  the  great  fight.  In  all  three  things  he  has 
lied.  Give  no  heed  to  him.  I  myself  will  shoot  him 
when  I  return.  If  he  be  a  Saint,  there  will  be  miracles 
over  his  tomb,  which  I  will  build.  If  he  be  no  Saint, 
there  is  but  oae  Mullah  the  less.  It  were  better  that 
he  should  die  than  take  the  Khaibar  villages  into  a  new 
blockade;  as  did  the  Mullah  of  Kardara,  when  we  were 
brought  to  shame  by  Jan  Larens  and  I  was  a  young  man. 

The  black  men  in  this  place  are  dogs  and  children. 
To  such  an  one  I  spoke  yesterday,  saying,  "Where 
is  Vahbtahn  Sahib?"  and  he  answered  nothing,  but 
laughed.  I  took  him  by  the  throat  and  shook  him, 
only  a  little  and  very  gently,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  bring 
trouble  on  Vahbtahn  Sahib,  and  he  has  said  that  our 
customs  are  not  the  customs  of  this  country.  This  black 
man  wept,  and  said  that  I  had  killed  him,  but  truly  I 
had  only  shaken  him  to  and  fro.  He  was  a  fat  man, 
with  white  stockings,  dressed  in  woman's  fashion,  speak- 
ing English,  but  acting  without  courtesy  either  to  the 
Sahibs  or  to  us.  Thus  are  all  the  black  people  in  the 
city  of  Calcutta.  But  for  these  English,  we  who  are 
here  now  could  loot  the  city,  and  portion  out  the  women, 
who  are  fair. 


368 

I  have  bought  an  English  rifle  for  you,  my  son,  better 
than  the  one  which  Shere  Khan  stole  from  Cherat  last 
summer,  throwing  to  two  thousand  paces;  and  for  Sultan 
Khan  an  English  revolver,  as  he  asked.  Of  the  wonders 
of  this  great  city  I  will  speak  when  we  meet,  for  I  can- 
not write  them. 

When  I  came  from  Lala  China  the  tale  of  blood  be- 
tween our  house  and  the  house  of  Zarmat  Shah  lacked 
one  on  our  side.  I  have  been  gone  many  days,  but 
I  have  no  news  from  you  that  it  is  made  even.  If 
ye  have  not  yet  killed  the  boy  who  had  the  feud  laid 
upon  him  when  I  went,  do  nothing  but  guard  your  lives 
till  ye  get  the  new  rifle.  With  a  steady  rest  it  will 
throw  across  the  valley  into  Zarmat  Shah's  field,  and  so 
ye  can  kill  the  women  at  evening. 

Now  I  will  cease,  for  I  am  tired  of  this  writing.  Make 
Mahbub  Ali  welcome,  and  bid  him  stay  till  ye  have 
written  an  answer  to  this,  telling  me  whether  all  be  well 
in  my  house.  My  blood  is  not  cold  that  I  charge  you 
once  again  to  give  no  ear  to  the  Mullahs,  who  have  lied, 
as  I  will  show ;  and,  above  all  else,  to  keep  the  villages 
still  till  I  return.  Nor  am  I  a  clucking  hen  of  a  Khut- 
tick  if  I  write  last,  that  these  English  are  devils,  against 
whom  only  the  Will  of  God  can  help  us. 

"And  why  should  we  beat  our  heads  against  a  rock,  for  we 
only  spill  our  brains  : 

And  when  we  have  the  Valley  to  content  us,  why  should  we  go 
out  against  the  Mountain  ? 

A  strong  man,  saith  Kabir,  is  strong  only  till  he  meet  with  a 
stronger." 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       369 

A  KING'S  ASHES 

1888 :  On  Wednesday  morning  last,  the  ashes  of  the  late 
ruler  of  Gwalior  were  consigned  to  the  Ganges  without 
the  walls  of  Allahabad  Fort.  Scindia  died  in  June  of 
last  year,  and,  shortly  after  the  cremation,  the  main 
portion  of  the  ashes  were  taken  to  the  water.  Yester- 
day's function,  the  disposal  of  what  remained  (it  is 
impossible  not  to  be  horrible  in  dealing  with  such  a 
subject),  was  comparatively  of  an  unimportant  nature, 
but  sufficiently  grim  to  witness. 

Beyond  the  melon-beds  and  chappar  villages  that  stand 
upon  the  spit  of  sun-baked  mud  and  sand  at  the  con- 
fluence of  the  Jumna  and  the  Ganges,  lies  a  flag- 
bedizened  home  of  fakirs,  gurus,  gosains,  sanyasis,  and 
the  like.  A  stone's  throw  from  this  place  boils  and 
eddies  the  line  of  demarcation  between  the  pure  green 
waters  of  the  Jumna  and  the  turbid  current  of  the 
Ganges,  and  here  they  brought  the  ashes  of  Scindia. 
With  these  came  minor  functionaries  of  the  Gwalior 
State,  six  Brahmins  of  the  Court,  and  nine  of  Scindia' s 
relatives.  In  his  lifetime,  the  Maharaja  had  a  deep  and 
rooted  distrust  of  his  own  family  and  clan,  and  no  Scindia 
was  ever  allowed  office  about  him.  Indeed,  so  great  was 
his  aversion  that  he  would  not  even  permit  them  to  die 
in  the  Luskar,  or  City  of  Gwalior.  They  must  needs  go 
out  when  their  last  hour  came,  and  die  in  a  neighbouring 
jaghir  village  which  belonged  to  Sir  Michael  Pilose,  one 
of  that  Italian  family  which  has  served  the  State  so 
long  and  faithfully.  When  such  an  one  had  died, 
Scindia,  by  his  own  command,  was  not  informed  of 
the  event  till  the  prescribed  days  of  mourning  had 

VOL.  II  — 2  B 


370  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

elapsed.  Then  notice  was  given  to  him  by  the  placing 
of  his  bed  on  the  ground, —  a  sign  of  mourning,  —  and 
he  would  ask,  not  too  tenderly,  "Which  Sciudia  is 
dead?" 

Considering  this  unamiable  treatment,  the  wonder  was 
that  so  many  as  nine  of  his  own  kin  could  be  found  to 
attend  the  last  rites  on  that  sun-dried  mud-bank.  There 
was,  or  seemed  to  be,  no  attempt  at  ceremony,  and, 
naturally  enough,  no  pretence  at  grief;  nor  was  there 
any  gathering  of  native  notables.  The  common  crowd 
and  the  multitude  of  priests  had  the  spectacle  to  them- 
selves, if  we  except  a  few  artillery  men  from  the  Fort, 
who  had  strolled  down  to  see  what  was  happening  to 
"one  of  them  (qualified)  kings."  By  ten  o'clock,  a 
tawdry  silken  litter  bearing  the  ashes  and  accompanied 
by  the  mourners,  had  reached  the  water's  edge,  where 
wooden  cots  had  been  run  out  into  the  stream,  and 
where  the  water  deepened  boats  had  been  employed 
to  carry  the  press  of  sight-seers.  Underfoot,  the  wet 
ground  was  trodden  by  hundreds  of  feet  into  a  slimy 
pulp  of  mud  and  stale  flowers  of  sacrifice;  and  on  this 
compost  slipped  and  blundered  a  fine  white  horse,  whose 
fittings  were  heavy  with  bosses  of  new  silver.  He,  and 
a  big  elephant,  adorned  with  a  necklace  of  silver  plaques, 
was  a  gift  to  the  priests  who  in  cash  and  dinners  would 
profit  by  the  day's  work  to  the  extent  of  eight  or  ten 
thousand  rupees. 

Overhead  a  hundred  fakirs'  flags,  bearing  devices  of 
gods,  beasts,  and  the  trident  of  Shiva,  fluttered  in  the 
air;  while  all  around,  like  vultures  drawn  by  carrion, 
crowded  the  priests.  There  were  burly,  bull-necked, 
freshly  oiled  ruffians,  sleek  of  paunch  and  jowl,  clothed 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       371 

in  pure  white  linen ;  mad  wandering  mendicants 
carrying  the  peacock's  feather,  the  begging  bowl,  and 
the  patched  cloak;  salmon-robed  sanyasis  from  iip- 
country,  and  evil-eyed  gosains  from  the  south.  They 
crowded  upon  the  wooden  bedsteads,  piled  themselves 
upon  the  boats,  and  jostled  into  the  first  places  in  the 
crowd  in  the  mud,  and  all  their  eyes  were  turned  toward 
two  nearly  naked  men  who  seemed  to  be  kneading  some 
Horror  in  their  hands  and  dropping  it  into  the  water. 
The  closely  packed  boats  rocked  gently,  the  crowd  bab- 
bled and  buzzed,  and  uncouth  music  wailed  and  shrieked, 
while  from  behind  the  sullen,  squat  bulk  of  Allahabad 
Fort,  the  booming  of  minute-guns  announced  that  the 
Imperial  Government  was  paying  honour  to  the  memory 
of  His  Highness  Maharaja  Jyaji  Kao  Scindia,  G.C.B., 
G.C.S.I.,  once  owner  of  twenty  thousand  square  miles 
of  land,  nearly  three  million  people,  and  treasure  untold, 
if  all  tales  be  true.  Not  fifty  yards  upstream,  a  swollen 
dead  goat  was  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  water  in  a 
ghastly  parody  on  kidlike  skittishness,  and  green  filth 
was  cast  ashore  by  every  little  wave. 

Was  there  anything  more  to  see?  The  white  horse 
refused  to  be  led  into  the  water  and  splashed  all  the 
bystanders  with  dirt,  and  the  elephant's  weight  broke 
up  the  sand  it  was  standing  on  and  turned  it  to  a  quag. 
That  much  was  visible,  but  little  else ;  for  the  clamour- 
ing priests  forbade  any  English  foot  to  come  too  near, 
perhaps  for  fear  that  their  gains  might  be  lessened. 
Where  the  press  parted,  it  was  possible  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  this  ghoulish  kneading  by  the  naked  men  in 
the  boat,  and  to  hear  the  words  of  a  chanted  prayer. 
But  that  was  all. 


372  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 


THE   BRIDE'S   PROGRESS 

"  And  school  foundations  in  the  act 
Of  holiday,  three  files  compact, 
Shall  learn  to  view  thee  as  a  fact 
Connected  with  that  zealous  tract 
'  Rome,  Babylon,  and  Nineveh.'  " 

—  The  Burden  of  Nineveh. 

IT  would  have  been  presumption  and  weariness  de- 
liberately to  have  described  Benares.  No  man,  except 
he  who  writes  a  guide-book,  "  does  "  the  Strand  or  West- 
minster Abbey.  The  foreigner  —  French  or  American 
—  tells  London  what  to  think  of  herself,  as  the  visitor 
tells  the  Anglo-Indian  what  to  think  of  India.  Our 
neighbour  over  the  way  always  knows  so  much  more 
about  us  than  we  ourselves.  The  Bride  interpreted 
Benares  as  fresh  youth  and  radiant  beauty  can  interpret 
a  city  grey  and  worn  with  years.  Providence  had  been 
very  good  to  her,  and  she  repaid  Providence  by  dressing 
herself  to  the  best  advantage  —  which,  if  the  French 
speak  truth,  is  all  that  a  fair  woman  can  do  toward 
religion.  Generations  of  untroubled  ease  and  well-being 
must  have  builded  the  dainty  figure  and  rare  face,  and 
the  untamable  arrogance  of  wealth  looked  out  of  the 
calm  eyes.  "India,"  said  The  Bride,  philosophically, 
"  is  an  incident  only  in  our  trip.  We  are  going  on  to 
Australia  and  China,  and  then  Home  by  San  Francisco 
and  New  York.  We  shall  be  at  Home  again  before  the 
season  is  quite  ended."  And  she  patted  her  bracelets, 
smiling  softly  to  herself  over  some  thought  that  had 
little  enough  to  do  with  Benares  or  India  —  whichever 
was  the  "incident."  She  went  into  the  city  of  Benares. 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       373 

Benares  of  the  Buddhists  and  the  Hindus  —  of  Durga  of 
the  Thousand  Names  —  of  two  Thousand  Temples,  and 
twice  two  thousand  stenches.  Her  high  heels  rang 
delicately  upon  the  stone  pavement  of  the  gullies, 
and  her  brow,  unmarked  as  that  of  a  little  child,  was 
troubled  by  the  stenches.  "Why  does  Benares  smell 
so?"  demanded  The  Bride,  pathetically.  "Must  we  do 
it,  if  it  smells  like  this?"  The  Bridegroom  was  high- 
coloured,  fair-whiskered,  and  insistent,  as  an  English- 
man should  be.  "  Of  course  we  must.  It  would  never 
do  to  go  home  without  having  seen  Benares.  Where  is 
a  guide?"  The  streets  were  alive  with  them,  and  the 
couple  chose  him  who  spoke  English  most  fluently. 
"Would  you  like  to  see  where  the  Hindus  are  burnt?" 
said  he.  They  would,  though  The  Bride  shuddered  as 
she  spoke,  for  she  feared  that  it  would  be  very  horrible. 
A  ray  of  gracious  sunlight  touched  her  hair  as  she  turned, 
walking  cautiously  in  the  middle  of  the  narrow  way,  into 
the  maze  of  the  byways  of  Benares. 

The  sunlight  ceased  after  a  few  paces,  and  the  horrors 
of  the  Holy  City  gathered  round  her.  Neglected  rainbow- 
hued  sewage  sprawled  across  the  path,  and  a  bull,  rotten 
with  some  hideous  disease  that  distorted  his  head  out  of 
all  bestial  likeness,  pushed  through  the  filth.  The  Bride 
picked  her  way  carefully,  giving  the  bull  the  wall.  A 
lean  dog,  dying  of  mange,  growled  and  yelped  among 
her  starveling  puppies  on  a  threshold  that  led  into  the 
darkness  of  some  unclean  temple.  The  Bride  stooped 
and  patted  the  beast  on  the  head.  "  I  think  she's  some- 
thing like  Bessie,"  said  The  Bride,  and  once  again  her 
thoughts  wandered  far  beyond  Benares.  The  lanes  grew 
narrower  and  the  symbols  of  a  brutal  cult  more  numer- 


374  FROM  SEA  TO  SEA 

ous.  Hanuman,  red,  shameless,  and  smeared  with  oil, 
leaped  and  leered  upon  the  walls  above  stolid,  black, 
stone  bulls,  knee-deep  in  yellow  flowers.  The  bells 
clamoured  from  unseen  temples,  and  half-naked  men 
with  evil  eyes  rushed  out  of  dark  places  and  besought 
her  for  money,  saying  that  they  were  priests — padris, 
like  the  padris  of  her  own  faith.  One  young  man  — 
who  knows  in  what  Mission  school  he  had  picked  up  his 
speech?  —  told  her  this  in  English,  and  The  Bride 
laughed  merrily,  shaking  her  head.  "  These  men  speak 
English,"  she  called  back  to  her  husband.  "Isn't  it 
funny ! " 

But  the  mirth  went  out  of  her  face  when  a  turn  in  the 
lane  brought  her  suddenly  above  the  lonrmng-ghdt,  where 
a  man  was  piling  logs  on  some  Thing  that  lay  wrapped 
in  white  cloth,  near  the  water  of  the  Ganges.  "We 
can't  see  well  from  this  place,"  said  the  Bridegroom, 
stolidly.  "Let  us  get  a  little  closer."  They  moved 
forward  through  deep  grey  dust  —  white  sand  of  the 
river  and  black  dust  of  man  blended  —  till  they  com- 
manded a  full  view  of  the  steeply  sloping  bank  and  the 
Thing  under  the  logs.  A  man  was  laboriously  starting 
a  fire  at  the  river  end  of  the  pile ;  stepping  wide  now  and 
again  to  avoid  the  hot  embers  of  a  dying  blaze  actually 
on  the  edge  of  the  water.  The  Bride's  face  blanched, 
and  she  looked  appealingly  to  her  husband,  but  he 
had  only  eyes  for  the  newly  lit  flame.  Slowly,  very 
slowly,  a  white  dog  crept  on  his  belly  down  the  bank, 
toward  a  heap  of  ashes  among  which  the  water  was 
hissing.  A  plunge,  followed  by  a  yelp  of  pain,  told 
that  he  had  reached  food,  and  that  the  food  was  too 
hot  for  him.  With  a  deftness  that  marked  long  train- 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTKATION       375 

ing,  he  raked  the  capture  from  the  ashes  on  to  the 
dust  and  slobbered,  nosing  it  tentatively.  As  it  cooled, 
he  settled,  with  noises  of  animal  delight,  to  his  meal 
and  worried  and  growled  and  tore.  "  Will !  "  said  The 
Bride,  faintly.  The  Bridegroom  was  watching  the  newly 
lit  pyre  and  could  not  attend.  A  log  slipped  sideways, 
and  through  the  chink  showed  the  face  of  the  man 
below,  smiling  the  dull  thick  smile  of  death,  which  is 
such  a  smile  as  a  very  drunken  man  wears  when  he  has 
found  in  his  wide-swimming  brain  a  joke  of  exquisite 
savour.  The  dead  man  grinned  up  to  the  sun  and  the 
fair  face  of  The  Bride.  The  flames  sputtered  and  caught 
and  spread.  A  man  waded  out  knee-deep  into  the  water, 
which  was  covered  with  greasy  black  embers  and  an  oily 
scum.  He  chased  the  bobbing  driftwood  with  a  basket, 
that  it  might  be  saved  for  another  occasion,  and  threw 
each  take  on  a  mound  of  such  economies  or  on  the  back 
of  the  unheeding  dog  deep  in  the  enjoyment  of  his 
warm  dinner. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  as  the  flames  crackled,  the  Smil- 
ing Dead  Man  lifted  one  knee  through  the  light  logs. 
He  had  just  been  smitten  with  the  idea  of  rising  from 
his  last  couch  and  confounding  the  spectators.  It  was 
easy  to  see  he  was  tasting  the  notion  of  this  novel,  this 
stupendous  practical  joke,  and  would  presently,  always 
smiling,  rise  up,  and  up,  and  up,  and  .  .  . 

The  fire-shrivelled  knee  gave  way,  and  with  its  col- 
lapse little  flames  ran  forward  and  whistled  and  whis- 
pered and  fluttered  from  heel  to  head.  "Come  away, 
Will,"  said  The  Bride,  "come  away!  It  is  too  horri- 
ble. I'm  sorry  that  I  saw  it."  They  left  together,  she 
with  her  arm  in  her  husband's  for  a  sign  to  all  the 


376  FBOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

world  that,  though  Death  be  inevitable  and  awful,  Love 
is  still  the  greater,  and  in  its  sweet  selfishness  can  set  at 
naught  even  the  horrors  of  a  burning-#7id£. 

"I  never  thought  what  it  meant  before,"  said  The 
Bride,  releasing  her  husband's  arm  as  she  recovered  her- 
self; "  I  see  now."  "  See  what?  "  "  Don't  you  know?  " 
said  The  Bride,  "  what  Edwin  Arnold  says :  — 

'  For  all  the  tears  of  all  the  eyes 

Have  room  in  Gunga's  bed, 
And  all  the  sorrow  is  gone  to-morrow 
When  the  white  flames  have  fed.' 

I  see  now.  I  think  it  is  very,  very  horrible."  Then 
to  the  guide,  suddenly,  with  a  deep  compassion,  "And 
will  you  be  —  will  you  be  burnt  in  that  way,  too?" 
"Yes,  your  Ladyship,"  said  the  guide,  cheerfully,  "we 
are  all  burnt  that  way."  "Poor  wretch!"  said  The 
Bride  to  herself.  "Now  show  us  some  more  temples." 
A  second  time  they  dived  into  Benares  City,  but  it  was 
at  least  five  long  minutes  before  The  Bride  recovered 
those  buoyant  spirits  which  were  hers  by  right  of  Youth 
and  Love  and  Happiness.  A  very  pale  and  sober  little 
face  peered  into  the  filth  of  the  Temple  of  the  Cow, 
where  the  odour  of  Holiness  and  Humanity  are  highest. 
Fearful  and  wonderful  old  women,  crippled  in  hands 
and  feet,  body  and  back,  crawled  round  her;  some  even 
touching  the  hem  of  her  dress.  And  at  this  she  shud- 
dered, for  the  hands  were  very  foul.  The  walls  dripped 
filth,  the  pavement  sweated  filth,  and  the  contagion  of 
uncleanliness  walked  among  the  worshippers.  There 
might  have  been  beauty  in  the  Temple  of  the  Cow; 
there  certainly  was  horror  enough  and  to  spare;  but 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       377 

The  Bride  was  conscious  only  of  the  filth  of  the  place. 
She  turned  to  the  wisest  and  best  man  in  the  world,  ask- 
ing indignantly,  "  Why  don't  these  horrid  people  clean 
the  place  out?"  "I  don't  know,"  said  The  Bride- 
groom; "I  suppose  their  religion  forbids  it."  Once 
more  they  set  out  on  their  journey  through  the  city  of 
monstrous  creeds  —  she  in  front,  the  pure  white  hem  of 
her  petticoat  raised  indignantly  clear  of  the  mire,  and 
her  eyes  full  of  alarm  and  watchfulness.  Closed  gal- 
leries crossed  the  narrow  way,  and  the  light  of  day 
fainted  and  grew  sick  ere  it  could  climb  down  into  the 
abominations  of  the  gullies.  A  litter  of  gorgeous  red 
and  gold  barred  the  passage  to  the  Golden  Temple.  "  It 
is  the  Maharani  of  Hazaribagh,"  said  the  guide,  "she 
coming  to  pray  for  a  child."  "Ah!  "  said  The  Bride,  and 
turning  quickly  to  her  husband,  said,  "I  wish  mother 
were  with  us."  The  Bridegroom  made  no  answer. 
Perhaps  he  was  beginning  to  repent  of  dragging  a  young 
English  girl  through  the  iniquities  of  Benares.  He 
announced  his  intention  of  returning  to  his  hotel,  and 
The  Bride  dutifully  followed.  At  every  turn  lewd  gods 
grinned  and  mouthed  at  her,  the  still  air  was  clogged 
with  thick  odours  and  the  reek  of  rotten  marigold  flowers, 
and  disease  stood  blind  and  naked  before  the  sun.  "  Let 
us  get  away  quickly,"  said  The  Bride;  and  they  escaped 
to  the  main  street,  having  honestly  accomplished  nearly 
two-thirds  of  what  was  written  in  the  little  red  guide- 
book. An  instinct  inherited  from  a  century  of  cleanly 
English  housewives  made  The  Bride  pause  before  get- 
ting into  the  carriage,  and,  addressing  the  seething 
crowd  generally,  murmur,  "Oh!  you  horrid  people! 
Shouldn't  I  like  to  wash  you." 


378  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

Yet  Benares  —  which  name  must  certainly  be  derived 
from  be,  without,  and  nares,  nostrils  —  is  not  entirely 
a  Sacred  Midden.  Very  early  in  the  morning,  almost 
before  the  light  had  given  promise  of  the  day,  a  boat 
put  out  from  a  ghdt  and  rowed  upstream  till  it  stayed 
in  front  of  the  ruined  magnificence  of  Scindia's  Ghat  — 
a  range  of  ruined  wall  and  drunken  bastion.  The  Bride 
and  Bridegroom  had  risen  early  to  catch  their  last 
glimpse  of  the  city.  There  was  no  one  abroad  at  that 
hour,  ^and,  except  for  three  or  four  stone-laden  boats 
rolling  down  from  Mirzapur,  they  were  alone  upon  the 
river.  In  the  silence  a  voice  thundered  far  above  their 
heads:  "1  bear  witness  that  there  is  no  God  but  God." 
It  was  the  mullah,  proclaiming  the  Oneness  of  God  in 
the  city  of  the  Million  Manifestations.  The  call  rang 
across  the  sleeping  city  and  far  over  the  river,  and  be 
sure  that  the  mullah  abated  nothing  of  the  defiance 
of  his  cry  for  that  he  looked  down  upon  a  sea  of  tem- 
ples and  smelt  the  incense  of  a  hundred  Hindu  shrines. 
The  Bride  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  the  busi- 
ness. "What  is  he  making  that  noise  for,  Will?"  she 
asked.  "Worshipping  Vishnu,"  was  the  ready  reply; 
for  at  the  outset  of  his  venture  into  matrimony  a  young 
husband  is  at  the  least  infallible.  The  Bride  snuggled 
down  under  her  wraps,  keeping  her  delicate,  chill-pinked 
little  nose  toward  the  city.  Day  broke  over  Benares, 
and  The  Bride  stood  up  and  applauded  with  both  her 
hands.  It  was  finer,  she  said,  than  any  transformation 
scene;  and  so  in  her  gratitude  she  applauded  the  earth, 
the  sun,  and  the  everlasting  sky.  The  river  turned  to  a 
silver  flood  and  the  ruled  lines  of  the  ghdts  to  red  gold. 
"How  can  I  describe  this  to  mother?"  she  cried,  as  the 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTBATION       379 

wonder  grew,  and  timeless  Benares  roused  to  a  fresh  day. 
The  Bride  nestled  down  in  the  boat  and  gazed  round-eyed. 
As  water  spurts  through  a  leaky  dam,  as  ants  pour  out 
from  the  invaded  nest,  so  the  people  of  Benares  poured 
down  the  glidts  to  the  river.  Wherever  The  Bride's  eye 
rested,  it  saw  men  and  women  stepping  downwards, 
always  downwards,  by  rotten  wall,  worn  step,  tufted 
bastion,  riven  water-gate,  and  stark,  bare,  dusty  bank,  to 
the  water.  The  hundred  priests  drifted  down  to  their 
stations  under  the  large  mat-umbrellas  that  all  pictures 
of  Benares  represent  so  faithfully.  The  Bride's  face 
lighted  with  joy.  She  had  found  a  simile.  "  Will !  Do 
you  recollect  that  pantomime  we  went  to  ages  and  ages 
ago  —  before  we  were  engaged  —  at  Brighton?  Doesn't 
it  remind  you  of  the  scene  of  the  Fairy  Mushrooms  — 
just  before  they  all  got  up  and  danced,  you  know?  Isn't 
it  splendid?  "  She  leaned  forward,  her  chin  in  her  hand, 
and  watched  long  and  intently;  and  Nature,  who  is 
without  doubt  a  Frenchwoman,  so  keen  is  her  love  for 
effect,  arranged  that  the  shell-like  pink  of  The  Bride's 
cheek  should  be  turned  against  a  dull-red  house,  in  the 
windows  of  which  sat  women  in  blood-red  clothes,  let- 
ting down  crimson  turban-cloths  for  the  morning  breeze 
to  riot  with.  From  the  burning-*?/^  rose  lazily  a  welt 
of  thick  blue  smoke,  and  an  eddy  of  the  air  blew  a 
wreath  across  the  river.  The  Bride  coughed.  "Will," 
she  said,  "promise  me  when  I  die  you  won't  have  me 
cremated  —  if  cremation  is  the  fashion  then."  And 
"Will"  promised  lightly,  as  a  man  promises  who  is 
looking  for  long  years. 

The  life  of  the  city  went  forward.     The  Bride  heard, 
though  she  did  not  understand,  the  marriage-song,  and 


380  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

the  chant  of  prayers,  and  the  wail  of  the  mourners.  She 
looked  long  and  steadfastly  at  the  beating  heart  of 
Benares  and  at  the  Dead  for  whom  no  day  had  dawned. 
The  place  was  hers  to  watch  and  enjoy  if  she  pleased. 
Her  enjoyment  was  tempered  with  some  thought  of 
regret;  for  her  eyebrows  contracted  and  she  thought. 
Then  the  trouble  was  apparent.  "  Will ! "  she  said 
softly,  "they  don't  seem  to  think  much  of  its,  do  they?" 
Did  she  expect,  then,  that  the  whole  city  would  make 
obeisance  to  young  Love,  robed  and  crowned  in  a  grey 
tweed  travelling  dress  and  velvet  toque? 

The  boat  drifted  downstream,  and  an  hour  or  so  later 
the  Dufferin  Bridge  bore  away  The  Bride  and  Bride- 
groom on  their  travels,  in  which  India  was  to  be  "  only 
an  incident." 

"A  DISTEICT  AT  PLAY" 

1887 

FOUR  or  five  years  ago,  when  the  Egerton  Woollen 
Mills  were  young,  and  Dhariwal,  on  the  Amritsar  and 
Pathankot  Line,  was  just  beginning  to  grow,  there  was 
decreed  an  annual  holiday  for  all  the  workers  in  the 
Mill.  In  time  the  little  gathering  increased  from  a 
purely  private  tamasha  to  a  fair,  and  now  all  the 
Gurdaspur  District  goes  a-merrymaking  with  the  Mill- 
hands.  Here  the  history  begins. 

On  the  evening  of  Friday,  the  20th  of  August,  an 
Outsider  went  down  to  Dhariwal  to  see  that  mela.  He 
had  understood  that  it  was  an  affair  which  concerned 
the  People  only  —  that  no  one  in  authority  had  to  keep 
order  —  that  there  were  no  police,  and  that  everybody 
did  what  was  right  in  their  own  eyes ;  none  going  wrong. 


This  was  refreshing  and  pastoral,  even  as  Dhariwal, 
which  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Canal,  is  refreshing  and 
pastoral.  The  Egerton  Mills  own  a  baby  railway  — 
twenty-inch  gauge  —  which  joins  on  to  the  big  line  at 
Dhariwal  station,  so  that  the  visitor  steps  from  one  car- 
riage into  another,  and  journeys  in  state. 

Dusk  was  closing  in  as  the  locomotive  —  it  wore  a 
cloth  round  its  loins  and  a  string  of  beads  round  its  neck 
—  ran  the  tiny  carriage  into  the  Mill-yard,  and  the  Out- 
sider heard  the  low  grumble  of  turbines,  and  caught  a 
whiff  of  hot  wool  from  a  shed.  (The  Mills  were  run- 
ning and  would  run  till  eleven  o'clock  that  night, 
because,  though  holidays  were  necessary,  orders  were 
many  and  urgent.)  Both  smell  and  sound  suggested 
the  North  country  at  once,  • —  bleak,  paved  streets 
of  Skipton  and  Keighley;  chimneys  of  Beverley  and 
Burnley;  grey  stone  houses  within  stone  walls,  and  the 
moors  looking  down  on  all.  It  was  perfectly  natural, 
therefore,  to  find  that  the  Englishmen  who  directed  the 
departments  of  the  establishment  were  from  the  North 
also;  and  delightful  as  it  was  natural  to  hear  again  the 
slow,  staid  Yorkshire  tongue.  Here  the  illusion  stopped ; 
for,  in  place  of  the  merry  rattle  of  the  clogs  as  the  mill- 
hands  left  their  work,  there  was  only  the  soft  patter  of 
naked  feet  on  bare  ground,  and  for  purple,  smoke-girt 
moors,  the  far-off  line  of  the  Dalhousie  Hills. 

Presently,  the  electric  light  began  its  work,  and  a 
tour  over  the  Mills  was  undertaken.  The  machinery, 
the  thousands  of  spindles,  and  the  roaring  power-looms 
were  familiar  as  the  faces  of  old  friends ;  but  the  workers 
were  strange  indeed.  Small  brown  boys,  naked  except 
for  a  loin-cloth,  "pieced"  the  yarn  from  the  spindles 


382  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA. 

under  the  strong  blaze  of  the  electric  light,  and  semi- 
nude  men  toiled  at  the  carding- machine  between  the 
whirring  belts.  It  was  a  shock  and  a  realisation  —  for 
boys  and  men  seemed  to  know  their  work  in  almost 
Yorkshire  fashion. 

But  the  amusement  and  not  the  labour  of  the  Mill  was 
what  the  Outsider  had  come  to  see  —  the  amusement 
which  required  no  policemen  and  no  appearance  of  con- 
trol from  without. 

Early  on  Saturday  morning  all  Dhariwal  gathered 
itself  on  the  banks  of  the  Canal  —  a  magnificent  stretch 
of  water  —  to  watch  the  swimming-race,  a  short  half- 
mile  downstream.  Forty-three  bronzes  had  arranged 
themselves  in  picturesque  attitudes  on  the  girders  of  the 
Railway  bridge,  and  the  crowd  chaffed  them  according 
to  their  deserts.  The  race  was  won,  from  start  to  finish, 
by  a  tailor  with  a  wonderful  side-stroke  and  a  cataract 
in  one  eye.  The  advantage  counterbalanced  the  defect, 
for  he  steered  his  mid-stream  course  as  straight  as  a  fish, 
was  never  headed,  and  won,  sorely  pumped,  in  seven 
minutes  and  a  few  seconds.  The  crowd  ran  along  the 
bank  and  yelled  instructions  to  its  favourites  at  the  top 
of  its  voice.  Up  to  this  time  not  more  than  five  hundred 
folk  had  put  in  an  appearance,  so  it  was  impossible  to 
judge  of  their  behaviour  in  bulk. 

After  the  swimming  came  the  greased  pole,  an  enter- 
tainment the  pains  whereof  are  reserved  for  light-limbed 
boys,  and  the  prizes,  in  the  shape  of  gay  cloths  and 
rupees,  are  appropriated  by  heavy  fathers.  The  crowd 
had  disposed  itself  in  and  about  the  shadow  of  the  trees, 
where  one  might  circulate  comfortably  and  see  the  local 
notabilities. 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTEATION       383 

They  are  decidedly  Republicans  in  Dhariwal,  being 
innocent  of  Darbaries,  C.  I.  E.'s,  fat  old  gentlemen  in 
flowered  brocade  dressing-gowns,  and  cattle  of  that  kind. 
Every  one  seemed  much  on  a  level,  with  the  exception 
of  some  famous  wrestlers,  who  stood  aside  with  an  air  of 
conscious  worth,  and  grinned  cavernously  when  spoken 
to.  They  were  the  ilite  of  the  assembly,  and  were  to 
prove  their  claims  to  greatness  on  the  morrow.  Until 
the  Outsider  realised  how  great  an  interest  the  Gur- 
daspur  District  took  in  wrestling,  he  was  rather  at  a 
loss  to  understand  why  men  walked  round  and  round 
each  other  warily,  like  dogs  on  the  eve  of  a  quarrel. 

The  greasy  pole  competition  finished,  there  was  a 
general  move  in  the  direction  of  the  main  road,  and 
couples  were  chosen  from  among  the  Mill-hands  for  a 
three-legged  race.  Here  the  Outsider  joyfully  antici- 
pated difficulty  in  keeping  the  course  clear  without  a 
line  of  policemen;  for  all  crowds,  unless  duly  mar- 
shalled, will  edge  forward  to  see  what  is  going  on. 

But  the  democracy  of  Dhariwal  got  into  their  places 
as  they  were  told,  and  kept  them,  with  such  slight 
assistance  as  three  or  four  self-constituted  office-bearers 
gave.  Only  once,  when  the  honour  of  two  villages  and 
the  Mill  was  at  stake  in  the  Tug-of-War,  were  they 
unable  to  hold  in,  and  the  Englishmen  had  to  push  them 
back.  But  this  was  exceptional,  and  only  evoked  laugh- 
ter, for  in  the  front  rank  of  all  —  yellow-trousered  and 
blue-coated  —  was  a  real  live  policeman,  who  was  shoul- 
dered about  as  impartially  as  the  rest.  More  impar- 
tially, in  fact;  for  to  keep  a  policeman  in  order  is  a 
seldom-given  joy,  and  should  be  made  much  of. 

Then    back    to    the    Mill   bungalow   for    breakfast, 


384  FROM   SEA   TO   SEA 

where  there  was  a  gathering  of  five  or  six  English- 
men,—  Canal  Officers  and  Engineers.  Here  follows  a 
digression. 

After  long  residence  in  places  where  folk  discuss  such 
intangible  things  as  Lines,  Policies,  Schemes,  Measures, 
and  the  like,  in  an  abstract  and  bloodless  sort  of  way, 
it  was  a  revelation  to  listen  to  men  who  talk  of  Things 
and  the  People  —  crops  and  ploughs  and  water-supplies, 
and  the  best  means  of  using  all  three  for  the  benefit  of 
a  district.  They  spoke  masterfully,  these  Englishmen, 
as  owners  of  a  country  might  speak,  and  it  was  not  at 
first  that  one  realised  how  every  one  of  the  concerns 
they  touched  upon  with  the  air  of  proprietorship  were 
matters  which  had  not  the  faintest  bearing  on  their  pay  or 
prospects,  but  concerned  the  better  tillage  or  husbandry 
of  the  fields  around.  It  was  good  to  sit  idly  in  the  gar- 
den, by  the  guava-trees,  and  to  hear  these  stories  of 
work  undertaken  and  carried  out  in  the  interests  of, 
and,  best  of  all,  recognised  by,  Nubbi  Buksh  —  the  man 
whose  mind  moves  so  slowly  and  whose  life  is  so 
bounded.  They  had  no  particular  love  for  the  land, 
and  most  assuredly  no  hope  of  gain  from  it.  Yet  they 
spoke  as  though  their  hopes  of  salvation  were  centred 
on  driving  into  a  Zemindar's  head  the  expediency  of  cut- 
ting his  wheat  a  little  earlier  than  his  wont;  or  on 
proving  to  some  authority  or  other  that  the  Canal-rate 
in  such  and  such  a  district  was  too  high.  Every  one 
knows  that  India  is  a  country  filled  with  Englishmen, 
who  live  down  in  the  plains  and  do  things  other  than 
writing  futile  reports,  but  it  is  wholesome  to  meet  them 
in  the  flesh. 

To  return,  however,  to  the  "  Tug-of-War  "  and  the  sad 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       385 

story  of  the  ten  men  of  Futteh  Nangal.  Now  Futteh 
Nangal  is  a  village  of  proud  people,  mostly  sepoys,  full 
in  the  stomach;  and  Kung  is  another  village  filled  with 
Mill-hands  of  long  standing,  who  have  grown  lusty  on 
good  pay.  When  the  tug  began,  quoth  the  proud  men 
of  Futteh  Nangal:  "Let  all  the  other  teams  compete. 
We  will  stand  aside  and  pull  the  winners."  This  hauteur 
was  not  allowed,  and  in  the  end  it  happened  that  the 
men  of  Kung  thoroughly  defeated  the  sepoys  of  Futteh 
Nangal  amid  a  scene  of  the  wildest  excitement,  and 
secured  for  themselves  the  prize, —  an  American  plough, 
—  leaving  the  men  of  Futteh  Nangal  only  a  new  and 
improved  rice-husker. 

Other  sports  followed,  and  the  crowd  grew  denser  and 
denser  throughout  the  day,  till  evening,  when  every  one 
assembled  once  more  by  the  banks  of  the  Canal  to  see 
the  fireworks,  which  were  impressive.  Great  boxes  of 
rockets  and  shells,  and  wheels  and  Roman-candles,  had 
come  up  from  Calcutta,  and  the  intelligent  despatchers 
had  packed  the  whole  in  straw,  which  absorbs  damp. 
This  didn't  spoil  the  shells  and  rockets  —  quite  the  con- 
trary. It  added  a  pleasing  uncertainty  to  their  flight 
and  converted  the  shells  into  very  fair  imitations  of  the 
real  article.  The  crowd  dodged  and  ducked,  and  yelled 
and  laughed  and  chaffed,  at  each  illumination,  and  did 
their  best  to  fall  into  the  Canal.  It  was  a  jovial  scuffle, 
and  ended,  when  the  last  shell  had  burst  gloriously  on 
the  water,  in  a  general  adjournment  to  the  main  street 
of  Dhariwal  village,  where  there  was  provided  a  magic- 
lantern. 

At  first  sight  it  does  not  seem  likely  that  a  purely 
rustic  audience  would  take  any  deep  interest  in  magic- 
VOL.  ii  —  2c 


386  FROM  SEA  TO   SEA 

lanterns;  but  they  did,  and  showed  a  most  unexpected 
desire  to  know  what  the  pictures  meant.  It  was  an  out- 
of-door  performance,  the  sheet  being  stretched  on  the 
side  of  a  house,  and  the  people  sitting  below  in  silence. 
Then  the  native  doctor  —  who  was  popular  with  the 
Mill-hands — went  up  on  to  the  roof  and  began  a  running 
commentary  on  the  pictures  as  they  appeared;  and  his 
imagination  was  as  fluent  as  his  Punjabi.  The  crowd 
grew  irreverent  and  jested  with  him,  until  they  recog- 
nised a  portrait  of  one  of  the  native  overseers  and  a 
Jchitmutgar.  Then  they  turned  upon  the  two  who  had 
achieved  fame  thus  strangely,  and  commented  on  their 
beauty.  Lastly,  there  flashed  upon  the  sheet  a  portrait 
of  Her  Majesty  the  Empress.  The  native  doctor  rose  to 
the  occasion,  and,  after  enumerating  a  few  of  our  Great 
Lady's  virtues,  called  upon  the  crowd  to  salaam  and 
cheer;  both  of  which  they  did  noisily,  and  even  more 
noisily,  when  they  were  introduced  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  One  might  moralise  to  any  extent  on  the  effect 
produced  by  this  little  demonstration  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  corner  of  Her  Majesty's  Empire. 

Next  morning,  being  Sunday  and  cool,  was  given  up 
to  wrestling.  By  this  time  the  whole  of  the  Gurdaspur 
District  was  represented,  and  the  crowd  was  some  five 
thousand  strong.  Eventually,  after  much  shouting  one 
hundred  and  seventy  men  from  all  the  villages,  near 
and  far,  were  set  down  to  wrestle,  if  time  allowed. 
And  in  truth  the  first  prize  —  a  plough,  for  the  man 
who  showed  most  "  form  "  —  was  worth  wrestling  for. 
Armed  with  a  notebook  and  a  pencil,  the  Manager, 
by  virtue  of  considerable  experience  in  the  craft, 
picked  out  the  men  who  were  to  contend  together;  and 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       387 

these,  fearing  defeat,  did  in  almost  every  instance  ex- 
plain how  their  antagonist  was  too  much  for  them. 
The  people  sat  down  in  companies  upon  the  grass, 
village  by  village,  flanking  a  huge  square  marked  on  the 
ground.  Other  restraint  there  was  none.  Within  the 
square  was  the  roped  ring  for  the  wrestlers,  and  close 
to  the  ring  a  tent  for  the  dozen  or  so  of  Englishmen 
present.  Be  it  noted  that  anybody  might  come  into  this 
tent  who  did  not  interfere  with  a  view  of  the  wrestling. 
There  were  no  lean  brown  men,  clasping  their  noses 
with  their  hands  and  following  in  the  wake  of  the 
Manager  Sahib.  Still  less  were  there  the  fat  men  in 
gorgeous  raiment  before  noted  —  the  men  who  shake 
hands  "  Europe  fashion  "  and  demand  the  favour  of  your 
interest  for  their  uncle's  son's  wife's  cousin. 

It  was  a  sternly  democratic  community,  bent  on  en- 
joying itself,  and,  unlike  all  other  democracies,  knowing 
how  to  secure  what  it  wanted. 

The  wrestlers  were  called  out  by  name,  stripped,  and 
set  to  amid  applausive  shouts  from  their  respective  vil- 
lages and  trainers.  There  were  many  men  of  mark 
engaged,  —  huge  men  who  stripped  magnificently;  light, 
lean  men,  who  wriggled  like  eels,  and  got  the  mastery 
by  force  of  cunning;  men  deep  in  the  breast  as  bulls, 
lean  in  the  flank  as  greyhounds,  and  lithe  as  otters; 
men  who  wrestled  with  amicable  grins;  men  who  lost 
their  tempers  and  smote  each  other  with  the  clenched 
hand  on  the  face,  and  so  were  turned  out  of  the  ring 
amid  a  storm  of  derision  from  all  four  points  of  the 
compass;  men  as  handsome  as  statues  of  the  Greek 
gods,  and  foul-visaged  men  whose  noses  were  very 
properly  rubbed  in  the  dirt. 


388  FEOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

As  he  watched,  the  Outsider  was  filled  with  a  great 
contempt  and  pity  for  all  artists  at  Home,  because  he 
felt  sure  that  they  had  never  seen  the  human  form 
aright.  One  wrestler  caught  another  by  the  waist, 
arid  lifting  him  breast-high,  attempted  to  throw  him 
bodily,  the  other  stiffening  himself  like  a  bar  as  he  was 
heaved  up.  The  coup  failed,  and  for  half  a  minute  the 
two  stayed  motionless  as  stone,  till  the  lighter  weight 
wrenched  himself  out  of  the  other's  arms,  and  the  two 
came  down,  —  flashing  through  a  dozen  perfect  poses 
as  they  fell,  —  till  they  subsided  once  more  into  ig- 
noble scuffle  in  the  dust.  The  story  of  that  day's 
strife  would  be  a  long  one  were  it  written  at  length, — 
how  one  man  did  brutally  twist  the  knee  of  another 
(which  is  allowed  by  wrestling  law,  though  generally 
considered  mean)  for  a  good  ten  minutes,  and  how  the 
twistee  groaned,  but  held  out,  and  eventually  threw  the 
twister,  and  stalked  round  the  square  to  receive  the  con- 
gratulations of  his  friends ;  how  the  winner  in  each  bout 
danced  joyfully  over  to  the  tent  to  have  his  name 
recorded  (there  were  between  three  and  four  hundred 
rupees  given  in  prizes  in  the  wrestling  matches  alone); 
how  the  Mill-hands  applauded  their  men;  and  how 
Siddum,  Kisada,  Kalair,  Narote,  Sohul,  Maha,  and 
Doolanagar,  villages  of  repute,  yelled  in  reply;  how 
the  Sujhanpur  men  took  many  prizes  for  the  honour 
of  the  Sugar  mills  there;  how  the  event  of  the  day 
was  a  tussle  between  a  boy  —  a  mere  child  —  and  a 
young  man;  how  the  youngster  nearly  defeated  his 
opponent  amid  riotous  yells,  but  broke  down  finally 
through  sheer  exhaustion ;  how  his  trainer  ran  forward  to 
give  him  a  pill  of  dark  and  mysterious  composition,  but 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTBATION       389 

was  ordered  away  under  the  rules  of  the  game.  Lastly, 
how  a  haughty  and  most  wonderfully  ugly  weaver  of 
the  Mill  was  thrown  by  an  outsider,  and  how  the  Manager 
chuckled,  saying  that  a  defeat  at  wrestling  would  keep 
the  weaver  quiet  and  humble  for  some  time,  which  was 
desirable.  All  these  things  would  demand  much  space 
to  describe  and  must  go  unrecorded. 

They  wrestled  —  couple  by  couple  —  for  six  good 
hours  by  the  clock,  and  a  Kashmiri  weaver  (why  are 
Kashmiris  so  objectionable  all  the  Province  over?)  later 
on  in  the  afternoon,  was  moved  to  make  himself  a  nui- 
sance to  his  neighbours.  Then  the  four  self-appointed 
office-bearers  moved  in  his  direction ;  but  the  crowd  had 
already  dealt  with  him,  and  the  Dormouse  in  Alice  in 
Wonderland  was  never  so  suppressed  as  that  weaver. 
Which  proves  that  a  democracy  can  keep  order  among 
themselves  when  they  like. 

The  Outsider  departed,  leaving  the  wrestlers  still  at 
work,  and  the  last  he  heard  as  he  dived  through  that 
most  affable,  grinning  assembly,  was  the  shout  of  one 
of  the  Mill-hands,  who  had  thrown  his  man  and  ran  to 
the  tent  to  get  his  name  entered.  Freely  translated, 
the  words  were  exactly  what  Gareth,  the  Scullion- 
Knight,  said  to  King  Arthur:  — 

"  Yea  mighty  through  thy  meat  and  drinks  am  I, 
And  I  can  topple  down  a  hundred  such." 

Then  back  to  the  Schemes  and  Lines  and  Policies  and 
Projects  filled  with  admiration  for  the  Englishmen  who 
live  in  patriarchal  fashion  among  the  People,  respecting 
and  respected,  knowing  their  ways  and  their  wants ;  be- 
lieving (soundest  of  all  beliefs)  that  "  too  much  progress 


390  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

is  bad."  and  compassing  with  their  heads  and  hands 
real,  concrete,  and  undeniable  Things.  As  distinguished 
from  the  speech  which  dies  and  the  paper-work  which 
perishes. 

WHAT  IT  COMES  TO 

"  Men  instinctively  act  under  the  excitement  of  the  battle-field, 
only  as  they  have  been  taught  to  act  in  peace. "  .  .  .  These  words 
deserve  to  be  engraved  in  letters  of  gold  over  the  gates  of  every 
barrack  and  drill-ground  in  the  country.  The  drill  of  the  soldier 
now  begins  and  ends  in  the  Company.  .  .  .  Each  Company  will 
stand  for  itself  on  parade,  practically  as  independent  as  a  battery 
of  artillery  in  a  brigade,  etc.,  etc.  Vide  Comments  on  New  Ger- 
man Drill  Regulations,  in  Pioneer. 

SCENE.  Canteen  of  the  Tyneside  Tailtwisters,  in  full 
blast.  Chumer  of  B  Company  annexes  the  Pioneer  on  its 
arrival,  by  right  of  the  strong  arm,  and  turns  it  over  con- 
temptuously. 

CHUMER.  —  'Ain't  much  in  this  'ere.  On'y  Jack  the 
Ripper  and  a  lot  about  Oi-vilians.  'Might  think  the 
'ole  country  was  full  of  Ci-vilians.  Ci-vilians  an'  drill. 
'Strewth  a'  mighty!  As  if  a  man  didn't  get  'miff  drill 
outside  o'  his  evenin'  paiper.  Anybody  got  the  fill  of 
a  pipe  'ere? 

SHUCKBBUGH  of  B  Company  (passing  pouch).  —  Let's 
'ave  'old  o'  that  paper.  Wot's  on?  Wot's  in?  No 
more  new  drill? 

CHUMER. —  Drill  be  sugared!  When  I  was  at  'ome, 
now  buyin'  my  Times  orf  the  Railway  stall  like  a  gen- 
tleman, /  never  read  nothin'  about  drill.  There  wasn't 
no  drill.  Strike  me  blind,  these  Injian  papers  ain't  got 
nothin'  else  to  write  about.  When  'tisn't  our  drill,  it's 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       391 

Rooshian  or  Prooshian  or  French.  It's  Prooshian  now. 
Brrh! 

HOOKEY  (E  Company). — All  for  to  improve  your 
mind,  Chew!  You'll  get  a  first-class  school-ticket  one 
o'  these  days,  if  you  go  on. 

CHUMER  (whose  strong  point  is  not  education).  —  You'll 
get  a  first-class  head  on  top  o'  your  shoulders,  'Ook,  if 
you  go  on.  You  mind  that  I  ain't  no  bloomin'  littera- 
toor  but  .  .  . 

SHUCKBRUGH.  —  Go  on  about  the  Prooshians  an'  let 
'Ook  alone.  'Ook  'as  a  —  wot's  its  name?  —  fas  —  fas 

—  fascilitude  for  impartin'  instruction.     'E's  down   in 
the  Captain's  book  as  sich.     Ain't  you,  'Ook? 

CHUMER  (anxious  to  vindicate  his  education).  — Listen 
'ere !  "  Men  instinck  —  stinkivly  act  under  the  excite- 
ment of  the  battle-field  oji'y  as  they  'ave  been  taught 
for  to  act  in  peace."  An'  the  man  that  wrote  that  sez 
't  ought  to  be  printed  in  gold  in  our  barricks. 

SHUCKBRUGH  (who  has  been  through  the  Afghan  War). 

—  'Might  a  told  'im  that,  if  he'd  come  to  me,  any  time 
these  ten  years. 

HOOKEY  (loftily).  — 01  bid  fair  he's  a  bloomin'  Gen- 
eral. Wot's  'e  drivin'  at? 

SHUCKBRUGH.  —  'E  says  wot  you  do  on  p'rade  you  do 
without  thinkin'  under  fire.  If  you  was  taught  to  stand 
on  your  'ed  on  p'rade,  you'd  do  so  in  action. 

CHUMER.  —  I'd  lie  on  my  belly  first  for  a  bit,  if  so  be 
there  was  aught  to  lie  be'ind. 

HOOKEY. — That's  'ow  you've  been  taught.  We're 
allus  lyin'  on  our  bellies  be'ind  every  bloomin'  bush  — 
spoilin'  our  best  clobber.  Takin'  advantage  o'  cover, 
they  call  it. 


392  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

SHUCKBRUGH.  —  An'  the  more  you  lie  the  more  you 
want  to  lie.  That's  human  natur'. 

CHUMER. — It's  rare  good  —  for  the  henemy.  I'm 
lyin'  'ere  where  this  pipe  is;  Shukky's  there  by  the 
'baccy-paper;  'Ook  is  there  be'ind  the  pewter,  an'  the 
rest  of  us  all  over  the  place  crawlin'  on  our  bellies  an' 
poppin'  at  the  smoke  in  front.  Old  Pompey,  arf  a  mile 
be'ind,  sez,  "The  battalion  will  now  attack."  Little 
Mildred  squeaks  out,  "Charrge!"  Shukky  an'  me,  an' 
you,  an'  'im,  picks  ourselves  out  o'  the  dirt,  an'  charges. 
But  'ow  the  dooce  can  you  charge  from  skirmishin' 
order?  That's  wot  I  want  to  know.  There  ain't  no 
touch  —  there  ain't  no  chello;  an'  the  minut'  the  charge 
is  over,  you've  got  to  play  at  bein'  a  bloomin'  field-rat 
all  over  again. 

GENERAL  CHORUS.  — Bray-vo,  Chew!  Go  it,  Sir  Gar- 
net! Two  pints  and  a  hopper  for  Chew!  Kernel  Chew! 

HOOKEY  (who  has  possessed  himself  of  the  paper).  — 
Well,  the  Prooshians  ain't  goin'  to  have  any  more  o' 
that.  There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  more  battalion-drill  — 
so  this  bloke  says.  On'y  just  the  comp'ny  handed  over 
to  the  comp'ny  orf'cer  to  do  wot  'e  likes  with. 

SHUCKBRUGH.  —  Gawd  'elp  E  Comp'ny  if  they  do  that 
to  us  I 

CHUMER  (hotly). — You're  bloomin'  pious  all  of  a 
sudden.  Wot's  wrong  with  Little  Mildred,  I'd  like  to 
know? 

SHUCKBRUGH.  —  Little  Mildred's  all  right.  It's  his 
bloomin'  dandified  Skipper  —  it's  Collar  an'  Cuffs  — 
it's  Ho  de  Kolone  —  it's  Squeaky  Jim  that  I'm  set 
against. 

CHUMER. — Well,     Ho  de  Kolone  is  goin'  'Ome,  an' 


THE   SMITH   ADMINISTRATION       393 

maybe  we'll  have  Sugartongs  instead.  Sugartongs  is  a 
hard  drill,  but  'e's  got  no  bloomin'  frills  about  'im. 

HOOKEY  (of  E  Company}. — You  ought  to  'ave  Hacker- 
stone —  e'd  wheel  yer  into  line.  Our  Jemima  ain't 
much  to  look  at,  but  'e  knows  wot  'e  wants  to  do  an'  he 
does  it.  'E  don't  club  the  company  an'  damn  the  Sar- 
gints,  Jemima  doesn't.  'E's  a  proper  man  an'  no  error. 

SHCJCKBRUGH. — Thank  you  for  nothin'.  Sugartongs 
is  a  vast  better.  Mess  Sargint  'e  told  us  that  Sugar- 
tongs is  goin'  to  be  married  at  'Ome.  If  'e's  that,  o' 
course  Je  won't  be  no  good;  but  the  Mess  Sargint's  a 
bloomin'  liar  mostly. 

CHUMER.  —  Sugartongs  won't  marry  —  not  'e.  'E's 
too  fond  o'  the  regiment.  Little  Mildred's  like  to  do 
that  first;  bein'  so  young. 

HOOKEY  (returning  to  paper}. — "On'y  the  comp'ny 
an'  the  comp'ny  orf'cer  doin'  what  'e  thinks  'is  men  can 
do."  'Strewthl  Our  Jemima'd  make  us  dance  down 
the  middle  an'  back  again.  But  what  Avould  they  do 
with  our  Colonel?  I  don't  catch  the  run  o'  this  new 
trick  of  company  officers  thinkin'  for  themselves. 

SHUCKBRUGH. — Give  'im  a  stickin'  plaster  to  keep 
'im  on  'is  'orse  at  battalion  p'rade,  an'  lock  'im  up  in 
ord'ly-room  'tween  whiles.  Me  an'  one  or  two  more 
would  see  'im  now  an'  again.  Ho!  Ho! 

CHUMER. — A  Colonel's  a  bloomin'  Colonel  anyway. 
'Can't  do  without  a  Colonel. 

SHUCKBRUGH.  —  'Oo  said  we  would,  you  fool?  Colonel 
'11  give  his  order,  "  Go  an'  do  this  an'  go  an'  do  that, 
an'  do  it  quick."  Sugartongs  e'  salutes  an'  Jemima  'e 
salutes  an'  orf  we  goes;  Little  Mildred  trippin'  over  'is 
sword  every  other  step.  We  know  Sugartongs;  you 


394  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

know  Jemima;  an'  they  know  MS.  "Come  on,"  sez  they. 
"  Come  on  it  is, "  sez  we ;  an'  we  don'  crawl  on  our  bel- 
lies no  more,  but  comes  on.  Old  Pompey  has  given  'is 
orders  an'  we  does  'em.  Old  Pompey  can't  cut  in  to 
with:  "Wot  the  this  an'  that  are  you  doin'  there? 
Retire  your  men.  Go  to  Blazes  and  cart  cinders,"  an' 
such  like.  There's  a  deal  in  that  there  notion  of  inde- 
pendent commands. 

CHUMER. — There  is.  It's  'ow  it  comes  in  action 
anywoys,  if  it  isn't  wot  it  comes  on  p'rade.  But  look 
'ere,  wot  'appens  if  you  don't  know  your  bloomin' 
orf'cer,  an'  'e  don't  know  nor  care  a  brass  farden  about 
you  —  like  Squeakin'  Jim? 

HOOKEY.  — Things  'appens,  as  a  rule;  an'  then  again 
they  don't  some'ow.  There's  a  deal  o'  luck  knockin' 
about  the  world,  an'  takin'  one  thing  with  another  a  fair 
shares  o'  that  comes  to  the  Army.  'Cordin'  to  this  'ere 
(he  thumps  the  paper)  we  ain't  got  no  weppings  worth 
the  name,  an'  we  don't  know  'ow  to  use  'em  when  we 
'ave  —  I  didn't  mean  your  belt,  Chew  —  we  ain't  got 
no  orf 'cers ;  we  'ave  got  bloomin'  swipes  for  liquor. 

CHUMER  (sotto  voce).  — Yuss.  Undred  an'  ten  gallons 
beer  made  out  of  a  heighty-four-gallon  cask  an'  the 
strength  kep'  up  with  'baccy.  Yah!  Go  on,  'Ook. 

HOOKEY. — We  ain't  got  no  drill,  we  ain't  got  no 
men,  we  ain't  got  no  kit,  nor  yet  no  bullocks  to  carry  it 
if  we  'ad  —  where  in  the  name  o'  fortune  do  all  our 
bloomin'  victories  come  from?  It's  a  tail-uppards  way 
o'  workin';  but  where  do  the  victories  come  from? 

SHUCKBRUGH  (recovering  his  pipe  from  Hookey' s  mouth). 
—  Ask  Little  Mildred — 'e  carries  the  Colours.  Chew, 
are  you  goin'  to  the  bazaar? 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       395 

THE   OPINIONS   OF  .GUNNER  BARNABAS 

A  NARROW-MINDED  Legislature  sets  its  face  against 
that  Atkins,  whose  Christian  name  is  Thomas,  drinking 
with  the  "civilian."  To  this  prejudice  I  and  Gunner 
Barnabas  rise  superior.  Ever  since  the  night  when 
he,  weeping,  asked  me  whether  the  road  was  as  frisky 
as  his  mule,  and  then  fell  head-first  from  the  latter  on 
the  former,  we  have  entertained  a  respect  for  each  other. 
I  wondered  that  he  had  not  been  instantly  killed,  and 
he  that  I  had  not  reported  him  to  various  high  Military 
Authorities  then  in  sight,  instead  of  gently  rolling  him 
down  the  hillside  till  the  danger  was  overpast.  On 
that  occasion,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  Gunner  Barnabas 
was  drunk.  Later  on,  as  our  intimacy  grew,  he  explained 
briefly  that  he  had  been  "  overtaken  "  for  the  first  time 
in  three  years ;  and  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt  the  truth 
of  his  words. 

Gunner  Barnabas  was  a  lean,  heavy-browed,  hollow- 
eyed  giant,  with  a  moustache  of  the  same  hue  and  texture 
as  his  mule's  tail.  Much  had  he  seen  from  Karachi  to 
Bhamo,  and,  so  his  bosom  friend,  McGair,  assured  me, 
had  once  killed  a  man  "with  Vs  naked  fistes."  But  it 
was  hard  to  make  him  talk.  When  he  was  moved  to 
speech,  he  roved  impartially  from  one  dialect  to  another, 
being  a  Devonshire  man,  brought  up  in  the  slums  of  Prat- 
ton,  nearly  absorbed  into  Portsmouth  Dock-yard,  sent  to 
Ireland  as  a  blacksmith's  assistant,  educated  imperfectly 
in  London,  and  there  enlisted  into  what  he  profanely 
called  a  "  jim-jam  batt'ry."  "  They  want  big  'uns  for  the 
work  we  does,"  quoth  Gunner  Barnabas,  bringing  down 
a  huge  hairy  hand  on  his  mule's  withers.  "Big  'uns 


396  FKOM   SEA  TO   SEA 

an'  steady  'uns."  He  flung  the  bridle  over  the  mule's 
head,  hitched  the  beast  to  a  tree,  and  settled  himself 
on  a  boulder  ere  lighting  an  unspeakably  rank  bazaar- 
cheroot. 

The  current  of  conversation  flowed  for  a  while  over  the 
pebbles  of  triviality.  Then,  in  answer  to  a  remark  of 
mine,  Gunner  Barnabas  heaved  his  huge  shoulders  clear 
of  the  rock  and  rolled  out  his  mind  between  puffs.  We 
had  touched  tenderly  and  reverently  on  the  great  ques- 
tion of  temperance  in  the  Army.  Gunner  Barnabas 
pointed  across  the  valley  to  the  Commander  in  Chief's 
house  and  spoke :  "  'Im  as  lives  over  yonder  is  goin' 
the  right  way  to  work,"  said  he.  "You  can  make  a 
man  march  by  reg'lation,  make  a  man  fire  by  reg'lation, 
make  a  man  load  up  a  bloomin'  mule  by  reg'lation.  You 
can't  make  him  a  Blue  Light  by  reg'lation,  and  that's 
the  only  thing  as  'ill  make  the  Blue  Lights  stop  grousin' 
and  stiffin'."  It  should  be  explained  for  the  benefit  of 
the  uninitiated,  that  a  "  Blue  Light "  is  a  Good  Templar, 
that  "grousing"  is  sulking,  and  " stiffin"  is  using  un- 
parliamentary language.  "An'  Blue  Lights,  specially 
when  the  orf'cer  commanding  is  a  Blue  Light  too,  is  a 
won'erful  fool.  You  never  be  a  Blue  Light,  Sir,  not  so 
long  as  you  live."  I  promised  faithfully  that  the  Blue 
Lights  should  burn  without  me  to  all  Eternity,  and  de- 
manded of  Gunner  Barnabas  the  reasons  for  his  dislike. 

My  friend  formulated  his  indictment  slowly  and  judi- 
cially. "Sometimes  a  Blue  Light's  a  blue  shirker;  very 
often  'e's  a  noosance;  and  more  than  often  'e's  a  lawyer, 
with  more  chin  than  'e  or  'is  friends  wants  to  'ear. 
When  a  man  —  any  man  —  sez  to  me  'you're  damned, 
and  there  ain't  no  trustin'  you,'  —  meanin'  not  as  you  or 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       397 

I  sittin'  'ere  might  say  'you  be  damned '  comfortable  an' 
by  way  o'  makin'  talk  like,  but  reg'lar  damned  —  why, 
naturally,  I  ain't  pleased.  Now  when  a  Blue  Light  ain't 
sayin'  that  'e's  throwin'  out  a  forty-seven  inch  chest  hin- 
side  of  'isself  as  it  was,  an'  letting  you  see  'e  thinks  it. 
I  hate  a  Blue  Light.  But  there's  some  is  good,  better 
than  ord'nary,  and  them  I  has  nothing  to  say  against. 
What  I  sez  is,  too  much  bloomin'  'oliness  ain't  proper, 
nor  fit  for  man  or  beast."  He  threw  himself  back  on 
the  ground  and  drove  his  boot-heels  into  the  mould. 
Evidently,  Gunner  Barnabas  had  suffered  from  the 
"  Blue  Lights  "  at  some  portion  of  his  career.  I  sug- 
gested mildly  that  the  Order  to  which  he  objected  was 
doing  good  work,  and  quoted  statistics  to  prove  this, 
but  the  great  Gunner  remained  unconvinced.  "Look 
'ere,"  said  he,  "if  you  knows  anything  o'  the  likes  o'  us, 
you  knows  that  the  Blue  Lights  sez  when  a  man  drinks 
he  drinks  for  the  purpose  of  meanin'  to  be  bloomin' 
drunk,  and  there  ain't  no  safety  'cept  in  not  drinking 
at  all.  Now  that  ain't  all  true.  There's  men  as  can 
drink  their  whack  and  be  no  worse  for  it.  Them's  grown 
men,  for  the  boys  drink  for  honour  and  glory  —  Lord 
'elp  'em  —  an'  they  should  be  dealt  with  diff'rent. 

"  But  the  Blue  Light  'e  sez  to  us :  'You  drink  mod'rate? 
You  ain't  got  it  in  you,  an'  you  don't  come  into  our  nice 
rooms  no  more.  You  go  to  the  Canteen  an'  hog  your 
liquor  there.'  Now  I  put  to  you,  Sir,  as  a  friend,  are 
that  the  sort  of  manners  to  projuce  good  feelin'  in  a 
rig'ment  or  anywhere  else?  And  when  'Im  that  lives 
over  yonder"  —  out  went  the  black-bristled  hand  once 
more  towards  Snowdon  —  "  sez  in  a  —  in  a  —  pamphlick 
which  it  is  likely  you  'ave  seen  "  —  Barnabas  was  talk- 


398  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

ing  down  to  my  civilian  intellect  —  "sez  'come  on  and 
be  mod'rate  them  as  can,  an'  I'll  see  that  your  Orf'cer 
Commandin'  'elps  you;'  up  gets  the  Blue  Lights  and 
sez:  "Strewth!  the  Commander  in  Chief  is  aidin'  an' 
abettin'  the  Devil  an'  all  'is  Angels.  You  can't  be 
mod'rate,'  sez  the  Blue  Lights,  an'  that's  what  makes 
'em  feel  'oly.  Garrn!  It's  settin'  'emselves  up  for 
bein'  better  men  than  them  as  commands  'em,  an'  put- 
tin'  difficulties  all  roun'  an'  about.  That's  a  bloomin' 
Blue  Light  all  over,  that  is.  What  I  sez  is  give  the 
mod'rate  lay  a  chance.  I  s'pose  there's  room  even  for 
Blue  Lights  an'  men  without  aprins  in  this  'ere  big 
Army.  Let  the  Blue  Lights  take  off  their  aprins  an' 
'elp  the  mod'rate  men  if  they  ain't  too  proud.  I  ain't 
above  goin'  out  on  pass  with  a  Blue  Light  if  'e  sez 
I'm  a  man,  an'  not  an  —  untrustable  Devil  always 
a-hankerin'  after  lush.  But  contrariwise  "  —  Gunner 
Barnabas  stopped. 

"Contrariwise  how?"  said  I. 

"If  I  was  'Im  as  lives  over  yonder,  an'  you  was  me, 
an'  you  wouldn't  take  the  mod'rate  lay,  an'  was  a-comin' 
on  the  books  and  otherwise  a-raisconductin'  of  yourself,  I 
would  say:  'Gunner  Barnabas,'  I  would  say,  an'  by  that 
I  would  be  understood  to  be  addressin'  everybody  with  a 
uniform,  'you  are  a  incorrigable  in-tox-i-cator ' "  —  Bar- 
nabas sat  up,  folded  his  arms,  and  assumed  an  air  of 
ultra-judicial  ferocity  —  "'reported  to  me  as  such  by 
your  Orf'cer  Commandin'.  Very  good,  Gunner  Barna- 
bas,' I  would  say.  'I  cannot,  knowin'  what  I  do  o'  the 
likes  of  you,  subjergate  your  indecent  cravin'  for  lush ; 
but  I  will  edgercate  you  to  hold  your  liquor  without 
offence  to  them  as  is  your  friends  an'  companions,  an' 


THE   SMITH  ADMINISTRATION       399 

without  danger  to  the  Army  if  so  be  you're  on  sentry-go. 
I  will  make  your  life,  Gunner  Barnabas,  such  that  you 
will  pray  on  your  two  bended  knees  for  to  be  shut  of  it. 
You  shall  be  flogged  'between  the  guns  if  you  disgrace  a 
Batt'ry,  or  in  hollow  square  o'  the  rig'ment  if  you  belong 
to  the  Fut,  or  from  stables  to  barricks  and  back  again  if 
you  are  Cav'lry.  I'll  clink  you  till  you  forget  what  the 
sun  looks  like,  an'  I'll  pack-drill  you  till  your  kit  grows 
into  your  shoulder-blades  like  toadstools  on  a  stump. 
I'll  learn  you  to  be  sober  when  the  Widow  requires 
of  your  services,  an'  if  I  don't  learn  you  I'll  kill  you. 
Understan'  that,  Gunner  Barnabas;  for  tenderness  is 
wasted  on  the  likes  o'  you.  You  shall  learn  for  to  con- 
trol yourself  for  fear  o'  your  dirty  life;  an'  so  long  as 
that  fear  is  over  you,  Gunner  Barnabas,  you'll  be  a  man 
worth  the  shootin'.' ' 

Gunner  Barnabas  stopped  abruptly  and  broke  into  a 
laugh.  "I'm  as  bad  as  the  Blue  Lights,  only  -\ther 
way  on.  But  'tis  a  fact  that,  in  spite  o'  any  amount  o' 
mod'ration  and  pamphlicks  we've  got  a  scatterin'  o' 
young  imps  an'  old  devils  wot  you  can't  touch  excep' 
through  the  hide  o'  them,  and  by  cuttin'  deep  at  that. 
Some  o'  the  young  ones  wants  but  one  leatherin'  to  keep 
the  fear  o'  drink  before  their  eyes  for  years  an'  years; 
some  o'  the  old  ones  wants  leatherin'  now  and  again, 
for  the  want  of  drink  is  in  their  marrer.  You  talk,  an' 
you  talk,  an'  you  talk  o'  what  a  fine  fellow  the  Privit 
Sodger  is  —  an  so  'e  is  many  of  him;  but  there's  one 
med'cin'  or  one  sickness  that  you've  guv  up  too  soon. 
Preach  an'  Blue  Light  an'  medal  and  teach  us,  but,  for 
some  of  us,  keep  the  whipcord  handy." 

Barnabas  had  rather  startled  me  by  the  vehemence  of 


400  FROM   SEA  TO   SEA 

his  words.  He  must  have  seen  this,  for  he  said  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye:  "I  should  have  made  a  first-class 
Blue  Light  —  rammin'  double-charges  home  in  this  way. 
Well,  I  know  I'm  speakin'  truth,  and  the  Blue  Light 
thinks  he  is,  I  s'pose;  an'  it's  too  big  a  business  for  you 
an'  me  to  settle  in  one  afternoon." 

The  sound  of  horses'  feet  came  from  the  path  above 
our  heads.  Barnabas  sprang  up. 

"Orf'cer  an'  'rf'cer's  lady,"  said  he,  relapsing  into 
his  usual  speech.  "'Won't  do  for  you  to  be  seen 
a-talkin'  with  the  likes  o'  me.  Hutup  kurcha!" 

And  with  a  stumble,  a  crash,  and  a  jingle  of  harness, 
Gunner  Barnabas  went  his  way. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


DCT101988 


-3-H56 009888818 


A     000120382     7 


